The Perfect Man
by JD909626
Summary: Bella, a happily married woman, finds herself in a dangerous affair. Seattle's up in arms under the reign of a serial killer and she meets the criteria. But does Bella just fit the mold...or did she make it? AH BXJames BXE Crazyward OOC Romance
1. Chapter 1

Alright. This is a plot I can't really get out of my head so I'm putting it out there. This story is going to be strictly second priority until Thicker Than Blood is finished. I don't like to work on more than one thing at a time but I find that it helps with writers block.

This is a role reversal. Very OOC, but most fanfiction is. James is good, Edward… not so much. Both want Bella. All BPOV, which I normally hate but it just has to be.

Lots of violence and sex. I haven't rigidly worked the whole thing out but I'm pretty positive it won't have a happy ending. I'll warn you now because I'm crazy team Edward and I hate when you get ¾ of the way through a fic and the author strings angst on you.

Enjoy?

Disclaimer: All Twilight characters and core personality traits are the property of SM. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

I jump, nearly spilling the burning coffee from my favorite large red mug right into my lap when my husband slams down the morning paper. I lift my eyes, curious as to what the _Seattle Times_ has done to personally offend him… or perhaps there was just a fly on the kitchen table. _Who knows?_

Thankfully my limited detective skills don't get put to the test this early in the morning because he's staring at me, beautiful blue eyes radiating anxiety and I'm sure he's about to let me in on his sudden development, whether I want to know or not.

He glances down at my body and for a moment I think he's giving me a pointed once over… _oh no, you've already made me late to work twice this week, mister. _But as his eyes narrow with contempt I realize that he's glaring at my waitressing uniform and not ogling my breasts... _Or at least I hope so. He had still liked them just fine as of last night…_

He shakes his head slowly, like he's fighting some sort of epic internal battle and I can't help but grin around the lip of my mug._ It's quite cute_…

"Baby, you're calling in sick. I can't send you out there, Bella. I just wont," he finally snaps. He flips the grey paper across the wooden surface and jabs a long finger at the exposed cover page. "They found another one last night. She's your fucking twin, baby. This guys sick and until they catch him-"

I groan loudly enough to cut him off. _Not this again_. "James, _I'm_ _sick_ of having this conversation. There's over half a million people in this city…"

I look down at the paper and fight back a grimace. There's a black printed picture of a kind looking young woman, posed for what one could assume was a senior portrait, directly above a picture of a busy crime seen and a nondescript body bag. _Megan Hayes_. Geeze, This girl _does_ look like my long lost sister.

"But how many petite, long haired, 20-something, pale, brunettes, with big brown eyes, Bells?" he lists off sarcastically, "This one's the _13th_ … Dead. I'm not sending my girl out there so some disgusting fuck can filet her throat and dump her on the side of the road," he hisses.

I can _see_ the stress on his handsome face. He's too young to look so tortured and even though I firmly believe he's over reacting I resolve to be more sensitive to his perceived concerns.

My chair scrapes noisily against the tile floor as I push it back. He's watching me sadly, sure that I'm about to walk away without dignifying him with a response but I simply hop off my stool and go to wrap my arms around the man that's been my rock for the last 6 years; my best friend.

He smiles, a genuine, beautiful smile, and pulls me flat against his warm, shirtless chest, closing his eyes as I work my fingers gingerly through long blond hair. It's damp and free of its usual low ponytail. I've envied his full and silken locks since my junior year of high school, when I first laid eyes on him. Too pretty for a boy.

"I understand why you're worried, James. I really do… But I think you need a bit of perspective," I keep my voice gentle, soothing. It's the tone I find works best with determined husbands and puppies, "I can't stop living my life because there's some 'rampaging serial killer'. It's not like we're still in Forks where I'm likely to encounter one particular individual. I'm just as likely to walk out of work tonight and get hit by a bus…" I argue.

He throws his head back and groans, horrified. I have to stifle a giggle. "_Jesus_, _baby_, don't say morbid shit like that," he scolds like he wasn't just talking about me bleeding out from a cut to the jugular, and tightens his grip around my narrow waist. "And I'm not saying you have to stop living your life but maybe you can be a little more careful."

I smile coyly, trying to make light, "Careful by your standards is locking me in the bedroom."

His answering grin is wicked and my stomach flips in that gloriously familiar way. "B, I've been trying to lock you in our bedroom for years and you always manage to get out some how," he wiggles his honey colored eyebrows and latches his lips onto my neck.

I laugh, because it tickles, and shrug, "I get hungry."

James growls, playful. "I've never failed to provide for my girl," he points out proudly.

It's entirely true. Up until very recently we never had much but he's never let us want for anything, even when it meant he wasn't necessarily working in the field of his dreams to earn money for bills and our few luxuries.

"I know, Jamie. My mighty provider," I snort rudely.

I'm not one to play the damsel in distress and we both know it. My husband and I have taken care of each other in equal parts since I was sixteen.

His expression goes cold again and just like that the atmosphere has taken a turn for the worse, despite my best, inadequate efforts.

James brushes a few wayward hairs that have escaped my messy ponytail out of my face. He looks… sheepish. "You know its not like that, B. I'm not trying to belittle you," he says so quietly its almost a whisper, "I know you don't need me to protect you but _I_ _need_ _you_. It's like self-preservation… If anything ever happened to-"

"Please stop," I beg.

I'm watching him make himself sick and I can't see him do this again. Its heart breaking. He's been on this none stop since the murders started to make the city really squirm. About 6 killings in. I suspect my police chief father's constant ragging on big city crime is starting to get to him. _I'm going to have to call Charlie and have a word._

"Nothings going to happen and I wont be working there for long anyway," I remind him, "I take my last final at the end of the month and then I can put four years of school to good use."

My job at the diner was something he fought me on tooth and nail when we first moved here for me to go to school but it earned us extra money through my classes at UW and I refused flat out to sit back and contribute nothing while he pulled my weight. His contingency that it be in a better area had me commuting thirty minutes to a more well off part of Seattle but the tips were great and the customers were mostly pleasant, if only a bit self centered, business men and woman. I didn't mind the job one bit and despite it being a 24 hour establishment that sometimes had me working night shifts that let out in the early morning, I've never felt uncomfortable.

Until a few months ago…

When it became the unofficial epicenter for most of the killings; with almost a third of the girls having lived or worked within a few miles. Seattle was a flitter with news about Washington's most prolific murder since Gary Ridgway… Only this was _bigger_ than The Green River Killer.

These woman weren't 'just' prostitutes and people actually gave a fuck about the law student, the nurse, the wife of a banker and mother of two… there was no rhyme or reason. They came from all walks of life and degrees of finical success. The only requirement seemed to be that they look… well, exactly like me. Though my features were common enough.

12… _eh, now 13 of them_, their throats cut once straight across, left dead in unceremonious places. Not raped, not beaten, just… dead.

I wouldn't admit it aloud but it _did_ make me a touch jumpy as of late. I wasn't alone. This person was Los Angeles' Night Stalker or New York's Son of Sam. This guy, or woman, I suppose, was unjustified and spontaneous death.

"Well, that's what I've been meaning to talk to you about…" he looks down to hide his expression from me. I frown, getting the impression he's taking this conversation to a whole new level. My unease is only exacerbated by his long, bracing breath. "I was thinking… you know the gallery's doing really well right now? I've just commissioned another painting and pleasing this client will mean more to come…"

I nod, confused but proud. Always proud.

"Well since we have the money and the next few months are going to be transitional for us anyway I thought maybe you could take a year off…" He lifts his jaw and kisses my lips softly. He looks so vulnerable… It's not an emotion I'm used to seeing on my 6'2'', hellion of a husband and it's a touch disconcerting.

His suggestion is out of left field. Strange and unexpected.

"What would I do with a year off, James? It's not like I have a lot of other things going on," I chuckle nervously. Aside from school, work and James, I have very little else in my life. Not too many close friends and no exciting hobbies. I've always been a bit of a homebody and my almost debilitating shyness makes for an uneventful combination.

I have what James attests to be an unhealthy habit of considering myself hopelessly plain and despite what most would think; dating and eventually marrying our small high school's golden boy didn't really do anything to improve my self-esteem. More like makes me question what in the world he sees in me every morning I wake up next to a sweet, attractive man that treats me like I hung the stars.

He makes a show of looking around thoughtfully, "I don't know, B. You can hang out with me at the studio... join a bible study," we both snort a laugh at _that_, "pick up cross-stitching…" he lowers his voice and murmurs, "make us a baby…"

I choke on nothing but his words and air. Sputtering with wide eyes.

"_What_?" I manage to cough out.

I feel him rub my back hastily, probably in an attempt to prevent me from passing out right there on the kitchen floor._ I should have cleaned it on my day off._

"A baby, Bella," he presses like he wants so much to finish this painful conversation that he's forcing him self through his discomfort. "I thought now might be a good time to start a family."

I blink up at him, incredulous. _He's got to be kidding me._ "You're joking, right?" I pull away from his embrace to glare at him. "You're so afraid of the one in a thousand chance that I'll get picked off by some psycho that you'd _get me pregnant_ to keep me home."

His brows furrow over sky blue irises. "No… No, Baby! That's not it at all. Maybe that wasn't the best way to bring it up but one has nothing to do with the other.

"_I want this_."

I study his face closely and detect nothing but sincerity. My stomachs in knots. It was never a forgone conclusion that James and I would _ever_ have children. Neither of us were necessarily the nurturing type and while I wouldn't say that thoughts of little toe headed babies hadn't ever crossed my mind, mostly after seeing particularly cute newborns with their tired mothers at the diner, I had always been fairly certain it wasn't something he was interested in.

Least of all now, with me at 22, fresh out of school and him only one year my senior and in the middle of launching his new business. He's been trying to get his art career off the ground for years and its finally starting to really take off. I thought he'd want to devote every moment of free time to following his dream.

"Yeah?"

He nods slowly, eyeing me like a particularly skittish animal. "I know we're still young but we've been married for four years now," he smirks, "that's three years and eleven months longer than any one expected…"

I laugh lightly and find my way back into his arms, which he wraps happily around me. "I've killed all our house plants," I remind him softly.

He shrugs, unperturbed. "You were never really into nature."

"I was never really into babies…"

"I think you'll make a great mom, B."

_A mom. _Jesus_._

My minds reeling. This is way too much to process right now and I want nothing more than to be able to run from the room but he's staring at me, sapphire eyes filled with optimistic anticipation.

I blanch, "Oh, no… Stop looking at me like that. You can't just spring something like this on me and expect an answer!" I squeak embarrassingly, "I'm going to need time to think about this before I can even consider." I nod to myself, adamant.

I try to not look at him… something about his perfect face and charming smile is notorious for getting me to melt to his will. Point in case; our straight-out-of-high school elopement that went against every instinct my mother had ingrained in me.

He smiles warmly and rubs the tip of his nose against mine, "I hope you say 'yes'," he confesses. "I think I like the idea of you in my kitchen, bare foot and pregnant. Maybe then you'd actually shut up and do what I ask for once in your stubborn little life," he croons mockingly and lewdly grabs my bottom.

I scoff but can't keep my lips from turning up into a goofy grin. He makes me so happy it's a little ridiculous. "Pig."

I grab my coffee cup and shuffle to the sink, affectively abandoning our impromptu life changing conversation.

"You painting today?" I raise my voice over the water as I quickly wash a few forgotten dishes from the night before.

He follows me, like he always does, and adds his own mug to the pile before placing his hands on my hips and sandwiching me between his broad chest and the counter top as I work.

"Well I _thought_ I was spending the day with my wife…" he murmurs, dipping his head to trail kisses along the top of my spine. "Why are you going in so early?"

"Tanya needed to trade with me so I took her day shift."

"But you hate her," I can almost hear his brow furrow.

"I do," I confirm. Tanya Denali's one crazy bitch... "But you're always complaining about me getting out so late when I work evenings so I thought I'd get you off my back."

He chuckles and leans himself into me a bit harder, pressing against my behind, "You trying to tell me something?"

I push down the faucet and turn awkwardly to face him in the tiny space he's allotted me. Standing toe to toe my head barely clears the bottom of his pointed chin. "Yes," I stand on the tips of my flats to reach his lips for a kiss. "You've got to let me go or I'm going to be late."

"Be late," he tries one last time.

"James-" I scowl.

He takes a step back and puts his hands up, knowing well when he's pressed his luck too far. I have to work harder than is really reasonable to keep my expression firm and not allow my self to gape at the rippling muscles on his arms and abdomen. _God. He's beautiful._ "Fine. Make me worried sick all day," he grumbles, working himself back into a panic. "You at least have the cell phone I got you, yeah?"

"Uh… yeah." I answer absently. I _do_ technically have the damn thing with me and find no point in telling him that its been in my purse, unused and uncharged, for two weeks and is now undoubtedly dead as a door nail. I really have no one to call.

"Good girl."

He looks deflated as I tug on my coat and grab my bag and car keys. I almost give in and stay home to get the sulking look off his face but when you give James an inch he takes a mile and next thing I know I wont be allowed out of the house to go to classes or walk out on the porch for a cigarette. After that… bubble wrap.

"Hey," I tell him softly as I go to give him a kiss goodbye, "I'll make you your favorite tonight, ok? We can sit down and talk about… everything," I offer. I have to give him something. I hate leaving things like this and seldom do.

He bends to plant a chaste peck right between my eyes and gives me a tight, not-quite-right smile. It's the most I can hope for when he's convinced himself I'm about to walk out the door and risk my life for minimum wage. Heh.

"I love you, baby."

"Love you too. I'll be fine. Promise."

I'm half way down the drive way when the door swings open and he comes running out on the porch, still dressed only in sleep pants. I blush pink and glance around to make sure none of our neighbors are getting an eye full. He has no shame.

_Old Mrs. Davis down the street is a lusty one…_

"Baby, at least cut your hair so you're not walking around with a fucking 'pick me' sigh on your back!" he yells after me, desperate.

I frown. "But you love my hair long."

"Not as much as I love your pretty little neck."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everyone that has read the first chapter, and especially those that have left feedback. You guys are great. I hadn't expected anyone to look at it only one chapter in.

Heres a bit more. The chapter got longer than I meant it to. No beta so there will by typos. I'm sorry.

...

I rush into the diner with my head ducked slightly, trying not to draw attention to myself. I'm not used to the morning shift and I didn't do a great job of anticipating the early commuter traffic. I'm late _again_.

I have to walk past the manager's office to get to the tiny staff room where I need to store my things and clock in. I hug the wall and attempt to make myself look as small as possible as I pass the ominously open door. _Mouse-like_.

"Bella!"

I wince. Caught. James was right… I should have stayed at home, in bed, with him.

I close my eyes and turn with a resigned sigh. When I open them Marcus is sitting behind the paper littered desk smirking at me with mild amusement. For once I'm actually happy to see the pushy little man. I've never been good at using my 'feminine wiles', so to speak, but our day manager makes it so easy its nearly impossible not to. Since his friendliness boarders precariously on the line of sexual harassment I don't feel particularly bad about hamming it up a bit.

I shuffle a few steps towards his beady little eyes, the same shade as my husband's without a fraction of the appeal. I hang on the doorframe and offer a small, innocent smile, one that James would call me out on in a second flat but leaves Marcus predictably red cheeked.

"Uh, you covering for Tanya?" he manages gruffly.

I bite my lip and nod.

"She told you she comes in at 7, right?"

I briefly consider throwing her under the bus but as much as I'd hate to be written up for another late start, I'm more afraid of getting my ass kicked by the catty strawberry blonde.

I duck my head in a convincing show of self disappointment, just to look up at him through my modest fringe of lashes. I'm pretty sure I hear him gasp. If only everyone was so easy to impress. "She did. I'm _so_ sorry to put you out, Marc," I say with sincerity, because it really does mess up everyone's game when someone doesn't show up when expected, "I just got stuck in traffic and I-"

He puts his hands up and my mouth snaps shut. _Right. Less is more_. I'm relieved when his expression stays light and full of a creepy sort of indulgence. Like that grabby uncle you try to avoid at family reunions.

"It's fine, Bella. Just get clocked in and out to your station as soon as you can. You're replacing Gail and she's dead on her feet."

I nod, accepting the stab of guilt that hits me as penance and scurry off to my locker. My purse, with not enough cash to bother, gets stashed away, as well as my modest wedding band. We prepare food, the occasional salad or pre-meal soup, and aren't allowed to wear rings or bracelets, no exceptions.

I understand the sanitary measure, even if it did cause quite of bit of embarrassment when Jamie came in for a surprise visit my second week on the job and preceded to, very loudly, accuse me of pretending to be single to score better tips when he saw me ringless. _Ah, the joys of early marriage._

I fumble awkwardly with the strings of my little white apron as I rush out to take my place. I'm not paying a great deal of attention and my arms are busy behind my back so when I turn the corner I run right into Ms. Cope, breasts first.

"Ooof," the plump woman huffs. She's the most pillowy out of the diner's employees and her hands are blessedly empty. I bounce right off of her, no worse for the wear.

I still apologize earnestly, "I'm so sorry, Gail. I'm late to replace you and I almost took you down!"

"Bella, dear! I did't expect to see you," she looks surprised. Ms. Cope has about thirty years on most of us here and it's a little hard seeing someone who could be my grandmother in such an thankless work environment. She always has on a chipper smile but I couldn't imagine having to shell out meals for two dollar tips until my hair grayed.

My smile's sheepish, "In for Tanya."

"Oh, then that's okay, sweetheart. If it was that nasty little bitch I was going to lose my shit but I don't mind stickin' around for you." _Did I mention she has a filthy mouth? _She leans in to kiss my cheek, in a motherly sort of way, and though my mother doesn't smell like cigarettes and apple pie, its still comforting.

"4 already has their food, 16 will be waiting on you to order and 7… I don't think he's going to order anything. Just sitting there nursing his coffee and jacking off, wasting our table. Good luck honey," she yells progressively louder as she walks away. _Crazy old bat._

Just like she said, there's a couple munching happily in one of tables, I take the order of a posh business woman in another, and refill the coffee of Gail's squatter. Its very common to have customers that come in an order very little but stay for half the morning, we have free wifi. Some of us are more tolerant than others.

I'm excited to see Rose tending to patrons at the bar seats. I hadn't gotten a chance to see her since she switched to day and she's really a riot. It's more or less impossible to have a bad shift with her.

I sneak up and rub my hand over her obscenely round belly. The _real_ miracle of life is that she can still walk around without toppling over.

"What are you now, 12 months in?" I snicker as she turns on me, ready to pound whoever had the gall to touch her.

She's probably one of the most beautiful women I've ever met, tall, blonde, stunning, and tough as nails. She would be fired ten times over for snapping at customers if management wasn't so damn scared of her. I'm lucky to count her as one of my few friends because she either loves you or hates you. And boy does the girl know how to hate.

Her bright blue eyes go from ice to puffy clear sky as she realizes its me. "Oh thank Jesus. You in for Denali?" I nod. "Great because that skank keeps asking for it and I don't want to have this baby in jail."

I laugh, "I haven't seen you in far too long. How's Em?" I ask about her adorable, childlike boyfriend.

He's her polar opposite, if you don't count the fact that he's also insanely good looking. I continue to rub her distended stomach, its weird for me but I know Rosalie loves that kind of shit. She's smart and cunning enough to be a hell of a lawyer and gorgeous enough to be a super model but its clear that all she's ever dreamed of being is a mother. Her and her boyfriend cant really afford a child, he's in construction and was finically devastated by the poor economy. We pretend like Rose _wants_ to work until the very moment she pops out a baby but we know taking more time off than necessary isn't an option for them.

The girl has a ton of pride and I'm not going to be the one to test it. Still, I can't help the guilty sense of relief I get out of knowing that James would work himself into an early grave before he let me continue at the diner, 8 months heavy with his child.

She absently moves my hand and slides it down to her lower belly, where the baby's kicking up a storm against her skin and _oh_. _Wow_.

"Oh he's great. Getting amped up over the impending birth of his son," she rolls her pretty eyes.

"Aren't you two waiting to find out the sex?" my voice is breathy and odd because the little ones still shoving against my palm and I think I may be having a moment.

Rose giggles, it's a strange sound coming from her. The pregnancy hormones must be making her more feminine, "He keeps telling everyone he's too manly to produce girls."

"Hey, prego! I've been waiting on my coffee for ten minutes! Can I get some service over here?" a grungy looking man yells from his seat at the bar. _Oh no. _Some of the regulars around him wince and drop their gazes, terrified to be caught in the cross fire. I even take a step back and watch meekly.

Rose rounds on him, the warmth in her eyes solidifying like frozen water. She strolls towards him gracefully, it's surprising to see from someone who looks to be holding roughly half her weight in her mid section. The blonde grabs the hot coffee pot from the brewer as she passes and when she's reached him, calmly starts pouring the steaming liquid into his cup. This would have been the appropriate way to handle the situation, but Rose isn't done, because when the mug is full she continues pouring… into his lap.

The man's eyes widen as he registers the heat. Rose smiles sweetly and sets the whole pot down in front of him as he starts sputtering curses.

She purrs, "I'm awfully sorry for making you wait. I'll just leave this here incase you haven't had enough."

The regulars snicker from their stools.

"Well I thought you handled that well," I mutter sarcastically as she walks back over to me like nothings happened. If Rosalie Hale had been born a man she'd have the world's biggest balls.

She shrugs, "Well what can I say? Pregnancy's turned me soft."

The breakfast rush hits us hard and I'm bummed because I really want to talk to Rose. It's not very often I get to, or want to, engage in 'girl talk' but James has given me a plethora of material this morning and I'm still reeling from it.

Me and the other girls work extra hard, subtly trying to make Rose's life a little easier. Just her sheer number of frantic trips to the lady's room has us scrambling to cover her station.

It's a stroke luck when Marcus breaks us at the same time. As badly as I'd like, need rather, a smoke I want to talk to her more. I follow her into the staff room, she's nicked enough food from the kitchen to feed half of Seattle, and makes me carry most of the bounty.

"You look tired," I notice with concern as she struggles to lower herself into one of the uncomfortable chairs. She's been nursing her back all day, I can only imagine the amount of pressure its under.

She lets out a breath when she's achieved a seated position, already eyeing a plate of chilly cheese fries like they're made of solid gold. "I'm always fucking tired," she dismisses, "not any worse than usually today. I'm working a double, this is only shift one. It's Jen's birthday and she's gone to Vegas."

This makes me uneasy. Rose seems like she could use some rest, "You sure you're up for it? I could cover…" I steal an onion ring and dip it in ranch, my voice nonchalant. If you tell Rose she can't do something, it's as good as done.

"I'm good," she waves me off, "Me and Em could use the money," she confesses.

There's an awkward silence and I try to think of something to change the topic.

"James told me he wants to start trying for a baby," I blurt. _Shit_. I'd meant to start with something light. Apparently my subconscious lacks subtlety. My cheeks heat as she pauses mid bite to gape at me.

"Is that what you want?" she lifts an artfully arched brow, speculative.

I don't have a clue how to answer her question, "I'm not sure… He just sprung it on me. He's never mentioned kids before, ever. I haven't even let myself consider it."

I feel a tinge of irritation that I'd been too shocked to process this morning. He could have warmed me up to the idea a little for Christ's sake. Dropped some hints, cooed over a few babies as we walked through the park. _Something_. But then the _image_ of my beautiful other half holding a baby flashes through my mind and my heart skips a few beats, dowsing my anger like a match under a waterfall. _What a sight that would be…_

"Well, think about it now. How does it make you feel?"

"Incredible, excited… terrified," I do my best to simplify my thoughts, "I mean… I'm just getting through with school. I'm only twenty-two!"

"I've only got three years on you," Rose points to her belly with a french-fry. "And your husbands like… a famous artist. You guys have plenty of money."

I snort, fighting a smile. James is hardly 'famous', he's very up and coming. His field is so hit and miss, you can have so much talent but that wont matter without some good old fashion luck. He _has_ gained a lot of attention and business since we managed save up enough cash to rent out a small building for his gallery. I don't exactly know what our financial situation looks like. James handles all of that.

"He said we'd be fine if I took a year off, you know, between school and finding a job," I recall. I almost fret that I'm not sure I'd be able to leave a child to daycare after only a year at home with him or her but I have the sense to stifle it, knowing Rose would consider a whole 12 months a luxury_. This conversations more difficult than I anticipated. _

Rose looks impressed, "That's great! You should totally do it. We can do play dates…" Her eyes get a far away look and I'm certain she's plotting.

"What! No way… I'm not ready to go _there_ yet. I'm still trying to figure out if I'd survive a pregnancy," the word sounds particularly odd in reference to myself.

"What are you talking about? Being pregnant is awesome."

"You rushed off to the bathroom like… 15 times this morning."

Rose frowns, incredulous. She has bit of chilly on her chin that makes it hard to take her seriously. "You would too if your bladder only held a few drops at a time. There's a 7 pound child where there once was _vital organs_, Bella. Not everything's going to work quiet right," she grins ruefully.

I laugh along with her. "So this isn't crazy? I should really consider it?"

"I guess, I cant really _tell_ you what's right for you. I was one of those little girls that dreams of having her own family since I was old enough to drag baby dolls around with me. You weren't."

I've told her about Renee, my mother, and how she's denounced young marriage after the one she shared with my father. According to her an intelligent woman wouldn't even begin to consider children till 35. _I've always wondered if I should resent that… _

"I never thought I'd be married by twenty-two, much less coming up on my four year anniversary," I admit.

She looks smug, "See! Your mom told you that was a terrible idea but look how happy you are. James is sickly in love with you. And so fucking hot I can hardly see straight when he's around-"

"Rose!"

She says that shit all the time, its mainly funny, because I know she's crazy about Emmett. Though I wont say having someone that makes me look so plain fuss over him is something I'm completely comfortable with. When he comes in and Tanya's here it makes me want to punch something.

She smirks, unapologetic. "Another pregnancy thing…" she shrugs, "I'm teenage boy horny _all the time_."

Rose squirms in her chair uncomfortably and she's not the only one. That's one facet of 'girl talk' I'll never be interested in. My sex life is private, much to the diner staff's chagrin. That part of my marriage is beyond fantastic but I can't find it in myself to talk about it freely like the other girls do.

"Well James would enjoy that aspect, I guess," I try to joke, pink cheeked.

"I bet he would."

We laps into a compatible silence. I'm finished asking questions because it hits me that its foolish and unfair to expect Rosalie to be able to tell me whether starting a family is a good idea. I'm afraid to make a decision myself and am trying to get someone else to do it for me. I do this a lot. I need to be having this discussion with James. Tonight over dinner, I decide.

There _is_ a topic we can talk about, guilt free. "Jamie's so freaked out over the 'Bambi hunter'", I sigh, using the press' name for Seattle's serial killer. His victims all innocent, demure young women with big brown eyes, "I'm surprised he's still letting me out of the house."

Rose doesn't laugh like I expect, instead she abandons her food and fixes me with a steely gaze. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. "He's right to be worried, Bella. Everyone is. Hell, Emmett's going crazy half the time and I don't look a thing like any of those girls," she lowers her voice, reaching out to squeeze my hand in hers.

"Try to take this seriously okay? 13 murders is a lot to get away with while every pair of eyes in the city are wide open and watching. We all love you so much, we wouldn't know what to do with ourselves if anyone tried to hurt you."

My gut twists with anxiety. James and Charlie are always worried about me, that's nothing new, so hearing them go on about obscure dangers isn't much of a red flag for me. But Rose… Rose isn't afraid of _anything_ and the stress in her features as she looks me over makes my skin feel like its growing too tight for my body, my every pore tingles.

I swallow thickly and nod, giving her hand a returning squeeze before pulling mine back. "I-I'll be careful," I promise. I suddenly want to be busy again so I don't have to think about these things. "I better get back. I'll turn your station for lunch. Take your time in here."

"Awesome," she smiles gratefully and picks up a fork, her brief period of seriousness already forgotten.

Try as I might to forget Rose's words, they haunt me during the rest of the morning. Everyone that so much as looks at me twice terrifies me. I'm a jumpy, inefficient mess.

I've never realized how many people look like possible serial murders when your imagination is flipping the fuck out.

I'm peering out of the kitchen at the end of the lunch rush, eyeing an old man sitting in one of the booths because I think he might have looked at me menacingly… Rose comes out of nowhere and touches my shoulder to get my attention. I yelp a surprised cry.

"What the hells wrong with you?" Rose snorts, laughing at my expense.

I point discreetly at the man through the food drop window, "Does he look dangerous to you? The one in the blue track suit…"

She follows my gaze, her mouth popping open in a gape before she bursts into a loud chortle. "Bella that's Mr. Banner. He's over eighty. The mans in a wheel chair!"

I blush, embarrassed. "But he glared at me weird…"

"He's a cranky old douche, idiot. He hates everyone. I told you to be _careful_, not bunny rabbit skittish," she shakes her head in amusement, her blonde ponytail bouncing perfectly.

I sigh, trying to calm myself. "Whatever," I mumble petulantly, "I'm off in 30. I just need to get home." Rose gasps and my attempts to calm down are officially abandoned."What!" I squeal, my eyes scanning our surroundings.

She waves me off, indicating that her gasp wasn't because of immediate danger. "Nothing… I just remembered that Tanya's going to be covering your shift. _He_ is going to be so fucking pissed…."

I know exactly who '_He'_ is. without elaboration. I bristle, getting that odd adrenaline rush that chills me to the bone every time he's mentioned or present.

He's been a confusing and exhilarating presence in my life since that unsteadying first encounter nearly a year ago…

_He walked into the diner like he owned it. Striding to one of my booths without so much as pausing at the door to glace around. I noticed him because he was, without doubt, the most beautiful human being I'd ever seen. Lean and shockingly tall in a charcoal gray suit that had to have cost more than my car, flawless pale skin that stretched over angular, pointed features. He didn't belong in the world outside of glossy magazines, and all I could do was stare. _

_The idol chatter turned into a near silence as he sat, like the room's occupants were aware of the presence of a superior, more powerful creature. I knew I was. _

_It was only six in the morning and I was dog tired, having worked through the night with Tanya. She was more than enough to exhaust my energy and patience. I wanted sleep and I wanted my husband. _

_I grabbed a menu so that I could tend to the breathtaking man but had it snatched from my hands. _

"_What the fuck, Tanya?" I growled, I was so sick of her. _

_The pretty strawberry blonde held my menu out of reach. "Let me take your table," she whined, looking over at the perfect man like he was a piece of meat and she was a starving Rottweiler. _

_If it was anyone else I'd have given up the table without hesitation. I was more than happily married, I didn't want to vie for the man's attention, as if I'd ever have a chance with someone like him under any circumstances. And though he'd yet to even look up from his blackberry, something about him filled me with unease. _

_But it was __**Tanya**__ and the bitch had gone out of her way to make my life harder from day one. I swiped a new menu from the stack, "Not a chance, Denali." _

_She looked panicked. "But that's Edward Cullen! Seattle's Distract Attorney. He's fucking loaded," she whispered franticly. _

_I frowned at her, confused but kind of impressed. The damn girl couldn't even remember the soup of the day 90% of the time. "How do you…" _

_She rolled her eyes at me and I kind of wanted to claw them out, "He was on the news the other day. Who could forget that face? He's fucking gorgeous…"_

_That made more sense than her having a sudden interest in the local judicial system. _

_I gave her my best 'I don't give a tiny rats ass' glare and turned on my heels, b-lining it for my booth before she could decide she was willing to physically fight me for it. _

_He didn't look up as I approached, he was too busy sorting through the first of four different newspapers he had stacked on the table in front of him. I was grateful that 'Edward Cullen' was preoccupied, other wise it would be really embarrassing when he caught me studying his perfect profile like he was some kind of coveted human-angel hybrid. _

_I was a little surprised I was so attracted to him. I'd seen handsome men before, obviously, but with a husband that was easily a ten out of ten on the good looking scale, he was hard to top. _

_I went to place the menu on the corner of his table and give our standard greeting but jumped, surprised when he put up a long, pale hand to stop me. I hadn't even known he'd seen me coming. _

"_Don't bother," he snapped curtly, his eyes still trained on the paper. His voice was beautiful and smooth but colder than ice, vicious, as it cut threw me. "Just a coffee, black. A fresh cup if you could manage it, not some slush that's been sitting on a heating pad for an hour. And can you possibly get someone competent out here to clean the table properly? It's disgusting." _

_I stood there gaping at him for several seconds, dumbfounded. I'd waited on rude people before, that was nothing new, but he hadn't even bothered to __**look**__ at me the entire time he barked out his orders. I felt like I'd been slapped. _

_I'd never been one to welcome confrontation, in fact I shied away from it like a vampire from the sun, but something about his snub made me so insanely angry I almost couldn't deal. It might have been the long shift I was coming off of, or the fact that I was kicking myself for not giving the gorgeous bastard to Tanya, because frankly, they'd make a perfect pair. But while I would normally swallow my pride and allow James to lick my wounds when I got home, I found my feet rooted to the spot, irritation burning my cheeks. _

"_Listen, buddy… I know you're probably used to people swarming over each other to do whatever bullshit errand that pops into your head and honestly, I'd love nothing more than to help make your morning a pleasant one, but until you talk to me like I'm a human being I'm not doing a damn thing for you," I hissed, the words tumbling out before I had the sense to stop them. _

_Very slowly, he put his paper down, folding it neatly, before turning to look at me for the very first time. _

_I paled, my emotions warring. Straight on he was so incredibly flawless it was hard to look at him. His emerald irises were so gloriously bright that for an instant, I couldn't believe they were real. His beautiful face was completely void of emotion, expressionless down to set line of his lips, but those eyes… those eyes were burning into me like he could end my life with the heat of them alone. _

_And perhaps he could because I melted from fierce tiger to terrified kitten in the blink of his green eyes, vulnerable and naked. I was sure I'd be fired. but more than that, for a flash of a second, my instincts told me I was risking more than my awful job, messing with this man. _

_He studied me carefully, looking me from top to bottom and I didn't dare move, didn't dare breath. 'Edward Cullen' looked last into my eyes, boring into them like he was reading the pages of my very soul. Flipping through and taking from me what he pleased._

_I expect his anger but after what felt like a life time under his examination his pink lips parted, pensive. He looked completely baffled and I got the distinct impression that it wasn't my foolish words that had garnered the reaction. He'd found something while starting me down, and I didn't think either of us had a clue what that 'something' was. _

_A fraction of a second later the confusion was gone, and I wondered if it was ever there to begin with. _

"_I sincerely apologize, Miss. That was unforgivably rude," the voice was the same, like a breathtaking piece of music, but the coldness had gone, and instead he wrapped it around me like a warm blanket. His eyes flicked across every part of my face, waiting for a reaction. _

_I couldn't figure out what was happening to me… What he was doing to me. "Not unforgivable," I corrected him, unsteady. _

_He smiled slowly, just a half smile, in answer and it was spectacular and horrifying at the same time. He glanced down at my name tag. "Bella," he read, frowning slightly. _

"_That's short for something." Not a question._

_I couldn't understand why he cared, no one had before. "Isabella," I nodded obediently, "But no one calls me that." _

_Edward looked satisfied by my words, like they were his suspected answer to a bothersome inconsistency. _

"_Isabella it is then." _

That was the most he'd ever spoken to me but I've seen him _every shift_, without fail, since that day. No one really knows how he worked out my schedule, well, at least management _claims_ ignorance… Or why he feels I'm the only one fit to serve him coffee, but he'll deal with no one else.

All of the girls at the diner have their personal regulars. Rose has an elderly woman that's eats her weight in cheeseburgers. Gail, a middle aged man that we're sure has the hots for her. Some people are creatures of habit so it's never been a concern that Edward Cullen seems to have taken a liking to me, I like to think I've earned his respect.

But truthfully, the man unnerves me completely. The novelty has never worn off, and every time he saunters through the door I feel my heart pulse at an unhealthy pace. It feels wrong, for my body to react so strongly to a man I know nothing about, whom I've never _really_ spoken to. And it's because of the innocence of our encounters that I've never told James about him. Edward Cullen is such an insignificant part of my life, and at the same time, my most profound mystery.

He stays for hours some days and only minutes on others but he's never not shown. Tanya, and some of the other girls, have tried their luck at waiting on him, hopeful to score a rich and beautiful boyfriend, on days I'm too busy to realize he's come in right away, but have had disastrous reactions. He's made two of the younger girls cry, before dismissing them and waiting patiently for me.

I feel a small tinge of pride every time it happens, followed by a wave of stupidity because all he does is greet me by name, my full name, in that beautiful voice and watch me with warm eyes as I shakily serve him coffee. I'm terrified to try conversation with him, and he's never attempted to push the issue. He leaves me a hundred dollar bill to cover his $1 coffee and disappears like a ghost before I can argue the outrageous tip.

To date he's single handedly paid off my car… Jamie thinks the customers at my work are unusually generous.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," I break my inner musings to reassure Rose, though I'm not even a little bit convinced he will be.

She shakes her head doubtfully, "Well I sure as hell won't be the one trying to take your place. That gorgeous douchebag scares the shit out of me…" Rose confesses with a shutter. _You're not alone on that one, sweetheart._ "I bet you ten bucks Tanya switched shifts with you so she'd get another shot with him. She wants him so bad. Has herself convinced that if he _sees_ her he'll be hooked. Do you know that he yelled at her without even looking at her when she tried to steal your table that one time?"

We both giggle, fondly reminiscing.

"Yeah, he's good at that," I muse, having experienced it way back when.

"Not with you, Bella," Rose snorts, "The way he looks at you… You have no idea… he only does it when you're not looking. It's so intense sometimes. Like he's afraid he'll miss something if he looks away."

I flush pink. I've never caught him looking at me, not even once, and although I'd deny it, I glance over at him far often enough to notice if he was.

"It's not like that," I insist softly, because it isn't. I've had customers hit on me before and Edward's never been one of them. "He's just one of those people that despises change. I'm his constant, is all…"

Rose gives me a look that plainly says she isn't buying it, grabbing her tray to return to her tables. "Yeah, yeah. Just be careful with that one. Men like that are used to getting what they want…"

I roll my eyes as she walks away. Edward _doesn't_ want me.

The phone rings as I pass by the register, I'm the only one around so I pick it up, a little miffed because it's not my job.

"3rd Avenue Diner. This is Bella speaking, how can I help you?"

"Bella! What are you doing in so early?" I recognize my co-worker, Amy's voice on the other line.

"I'm almost off. I'm covering Tanya."

"Oh. Well can you get Rose on for me? I need to see if she can cover me tonight. I've called everyone and she's my only shot."

I remember what Rose had told me over break. "She's already pulling a double for Jenny. Something about Vegas…"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" I hear her cursing. I try not to laugh, curling the phone cord around my fingers absently, "Bella please…"

My eyes pop wide with realization and suddenly her predicament isn't funny any more. "Oh no… I've been on since 7 and I want to go home."

"Please, you don't understand," she whines. I like the girl a great deal and it's the only reason I haven't hung up the phone yet. "My little boys sick as a dog and I can't leave him with the sitter. I'll do anything!"

I sigh, biting the shit out of my bottom lip as I think of the promise I made James. "My husbands going to kill me…" I mutter.

I pull the phone from my ear as she squeals, "Oh thank God! That means you'll do it right?"

"Oh course. I'm not going to make you leave your sick child," I grumble at her, "But I'm scheduled to work on my anniversary the last Saturday of the month and-"

"Consider it covered! Thanks a ton, Bells! Bye!" she rambles quickly, I'm sure in an attempt to hang up before I can change my mind.

I slump, dejected, and begin to dial our home number. James is going to be furious with me, and I'm disappointed as well because I'm very eager to talk to him about this morning.

"Bella! We just got a party of 18 in for lunch," Rose waddles up to me, "Can you help me push the tables together?"

I hang up the phone in a hurry, putting off the necessary call.

By the time I make it through the last of the unexpected rush, I've completely forgotten…


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All Twilight characters and core personality traits are the property of SM. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Thanks to those of you that have gotten on board with me for this story. The few of you that left my feed back were extremely encouraging and sweet. I'm pretty excited about this story so I hope it lives up to my expectations and yours. **

**This isn't beta'ed so try to keep that in mind. It's just me reading and rereading and hoping I don't look like too big of an idiot. I'm using a more simplistic writing style for this story. It's going to make updates easier and more frequent. I'm normally a 3****rd**** person kind of gal. **

_**I will be changing the name of this story so keep that in mind. I haven't come up with anything I like yet but I just wanted to get something up and I hate the one I have now. Hope this doesn't confuse anyone too bad. **_

When Tanya shows up for my shift, thirty minutes late, she struts through the kitchen like it's a catwalk, uniform altered in ways I'm positive are against the employee dress code. Her breasts are amply displayed by the open buttons of her dress, hemline so short I can see curves of hers no decent human being should be subjected to outside of a bedroom… or a cheep motel. She looks like a co ed that's dressed up as a waitress for a Halloween frat party. Her makeup's flawless, if not a bit over done, and even the hair hanging from her mandatory ponytail has been skillfully shaped into a smooth strawberry-blonde curl. The girl is undeniably lovely, it's a terrible shame she has the temperament of a troll.

I can tell right away that Rose has the situation pegged correctly. Tanya's dressed to her diner nines, calling me for a last minute shift change. She's definitely trying to pull the old bait and switch on my eccentric regular.

I'm taken off guard when a trill of jealously floods me, swift and bitterer. With her looking the way she does, I'd find it hard to believe that even the cold Seattle socialite would be inclined to turn her away. I try to dispel the emotion as soon as it comes, not comfortable having these kinds of thoughts in my head. Edward Cullen's a lot of things but '_mine'_ isn't one of them. You can't feel possessive over something that doesn't belong to you, something you don't even want.

Hadn't one of my first thoughts about him been that he and Tanya would be a good match? Surely a few months of brief greetings and outrageously great tips doesn't make him a good person.

She stops, mid stride and sneers in my direction. "Well, go on. Leave," she waves her manicured hands at me in a shooing motion. _Oh Jesus_. If I have to work with her all afternoon I might track down the bambi hunter myself and offer him my throat.

"Double shift," I explain simply because I'm not in the mood for confrontation. I'm just tired and sick of working and James was _so_ right when he told me to quit but I didn't and now my feet really hurt and I'm pretty sure my back is giving out at age 22.

I blow out a deep breath, watching as it bows loose strands of hair away from my face. I need to stop my internal pity party. These things can get out of control.

She looks even more pissed off than I am. Impressive. "I don't care. I'm in for _you_. I work your tables," the tart hisses. She'll fight me for them too. I can already see her bony little fists twitching.

"Suit yourself," I snap, stomping off.

_I hope Edward tears her a new one. _

I walk over to Amy's usual station and try my best not to look like my tails tucked between my legs, even if it is. I hate working someone else's tables. Its like cooking in a stranger's kitchen.

By the time the large plate-glass windows grow dim with the passing of day light hours I'm a mess. Not even a hot one. Just your garden variety mess.

We're surprisingly busy and Rose, bless her heart, is almost completely useless at this point. We lost her for good when someone ordered the fish sticks and the smell sent her b-lining for the lady's room.

I think I've finally caught a break when Mrs. Mary shuffles in and sits down at one of my tables. She a little old thing that comes in frequently because she detests cooking. "_Put dinner on the table for my husband every night for 50 years. Well he's dead now and I'm none_." Her exact words. _Tender_. She knows us by name and life story and even though she still considers a quarter a generous tip, we're all very fond of her.

I don't bother with a menu, she gets the same thing every time, just plop myself down in the booth across from her and offer a tired smile.

"Hi, Mrs. Mary. We've missed you around here." Word on the street is that she's been cheating on us with the diner on 4th. I don't blame her. It's a classy joint.

She looks a little guilty and uses her grandma charm to deflect. "Bella dear! You look lovely, as always. Such a pretty girl. How's that handsome husband of yours?" She's never actually seen him. Rose just has a big mouth.

"He's great. Just a bit stressed over-"

I physically feel the blood drain from my face. Holy fuck. I'm so dead it's not even funny. I promised James I'd be home… Hours ago. "Do you have the time?" I breath.

She eyes me like I may have lost my mind but politely lifts the sleeve of her knit sweater to consult her kitten-themed wrist wear. "Half past 5," she squints to read the dials despite the bottle thick glasses resting low on her nose. "Are you alright, dear?"

No. My husbands going to murder me and get away with it by staging it like a serial killing.

"I'm fine, ma'am. Just tired," I lie impressively once the blood returns to my brain. I stand up and straighten my uniform. I need to call home and grovel, a.s.a.p.

"Meatloaf and tea?" I check with her unnecessarily.

The old woman nods and points to a few stuffed plastic supermarket bags at her side. "Is Rosie around? I brought in some things for the baby…"

I'm not sure Rosalie really needs her thrifty yard sale finds but its such a sweet gesture it melts my rapidly beating heart. I reassure her that I'll send Rose her way once the mother-to-be resurfaces and hastily fill her a mug of hot water and serve it up with a lemon, honey, and a bag of decaffeinated tea to tide her over.

I slip behind the counter to call my husband. I really feel awful. He looked so terribly worried when I left the house and I had promised myself I'd try all I could to make him feel better until they catch that creep. I told him I'd make him his favorite dinner and the idea of him waiting for me, nervous _and_ hungry makes my stomach roll with guilt.

If I was home he'd lay me down and kiss me in all the right places and scratch my back until I fall asleep after we made love.

There's really no place I'd rather be.

The phone rings three times before I hear James' warm, deep voice.

"Hey you've reached James…" then my voice chimes in, though I sound muffled and far away in comparison, "and Bella!", back to James… because we're dorks, "Me and my girl aren't in to take-"

I hang up without leaving a message. _Shit_. He's either so angry that he's not picking up or he isn't home. He often goes to the studio to paint when he's displeased with me. Irritation makes him productive.

I try a few more times, to no avail. Rose finds me cursing under my breath after my last failed attempt.

"Everything okay?" She looks a little green but still beautiful.

"Can't get a hold of James. I promised I'd be home before I knew I was going to cover for Amy and we got so busy in here that I forgot to call. Now he's giving me the cold shoulder," I sigh.

The blonde grins wickedly, "Don't fuck up with that gorgeous man Bella… I swear to God if he's ever back on the market I'll leave Emmett so fast his head will spin," she jokes… maybe.

"I'll be sure to tell Em you said that."

"Go ahead. If that man farts in bed and traps me under the covers one more time I'll punch him in the face."

"Gross." I wrinkle my nose.

"He thinks it's the funniest thing in the world."

It _is_ kind of funny. Because it's not my husband doing it. James is impeccably respectful when he's not leaving his dirty underwear on the bathroom floor after his morning shower like they'll sprout tiny legs and walk themselves to the hamper.

"And you let him impregnate you," I point out. I hate to say I told you so.

Emmett loves Rose; that much is clear. But he's young and a feet dragger in the commitment department. She finally gave him an ultimatum. Baby or marriage or she was out of there.

He picked the option that guarantied copious amounts of sex.

We're interrupted when Tanya runs up to us, squealing. She looks flushed and nervous and I take a step back because I'd lose my shit if she threw up on me.

"He's here! Get in the back!" the non-pregnant blonde orders me as she fishes a lip stick out of her apron and starts feverishly reapplying her makeup.

I glance out the front window and see _his_ familiar sleek black Mercedes pull into a spot, the fascist Nazi mobile. Yes, I know what kind of car he drives. I may or may not have strategically stepped out for a smoke when I saw him leaving a few months back. The diner gals swoon over the handsome demigod in the 60,000 dollar car.

"I'm not going any where," I fold my arms and stand my ground. We all know that if Edward sees me in the building he'll turn Tanya away without a glance in her direction.

She looks like she's contemplating knocking me unconscious and stuffing my body in the cleaning supply closet. _You couldn't even drag my ass that far, sweetheart._

"Oh come on, Bella. Give the girl a shot," Rose makes a show of chastising me but I can see her blue eyes glittering with mischief. The woman looks all innocence and pregnancy but we both know she wants to see Edward lay into Tanya so bad it hurts. "Just go into the kitchen and take a break until T makes her move. I'll serve your tables if your orders come up while your back there."

Tanya glances at Rose, surprised but pleased. She's not suspicious because she may be a little bit retarded.

"Thanks Rose. For the record, I don't think you look as fat as all the girls keep saying you do."

Instead of punching her like I'm sure she wants to Rose just gives her a teeth clenching smile and looks at me imploringly.

"Fine," I agree to let Rose have her fun even though I'm not one for games and I'm afraid our ploy won't have its desired effect. Tanya's a pretty girl. I can hardly see how any warm blooded male would snub her.

"You've got ten minutes. I'll put on a fresh pot of coffee. That's all he'll ask for." Even if I'm not waiting on him I feel a compulsion to take care of him the way I have been for months and months now.

Tanya nods and glowers at me until roll my eyes and I walk into the kitchen, just before I hear the bell on the door chime as he enters. Not that the bell is my only way of detecting his presence. The air just feels… _thicker_ when he's in the room.

I can't stop myself, I find a nice spot behind the drop off window where I have a good view of them but no one can see me unless they take an unusually thorough look.

He's beautiful as he sits at his booth. It really doesn't make any sense that one human being would be gifted with that many striking features and you'd think it be too much, all that perfect, but its not. It's just humbling and dizzying and I realize that I don't often get to just _look_ at him like this because I'm too busy pretending I'm not interested in stealing glances in his direction.

My James is handsome is a real, tangible way. The kind of good looking that makes you stair, not gape or second guess the fallibility of your eyes. Though I'm not sure it's fair to make the comparison. I've only seen my husband in paint covered jeans and t-shirt, or grudgingly in a pair of slacks and a button down, if we're going somewhere nice. Edward Cullen is all power suits all the time, crisp and prepped like he's just come from a board room and is on his to a photo shoot. If I could afford a Dior suit, and was somehow miraculously able to wrestle Jamie into it, he may give Cullen a run for his money.

I try not to giggle as I watch Rose grab a rag and waddle across the room to 'clean' the already serviced booth beside his, setting herself up to see the show. _Smooth move Hale._

"Too busy for you out there, Bells? Hiding out with us lackeys behind the scenes?"

I flip around, startled but beaming at my favorite busboy. Seth is just 19 and the baby brother I never had. His mom is dating my father but even before that he was always the bubbly tiny thing that followed James around like he was the coolest thing since sliced bread. I was cockblocked a lot by the little guy in high school.

He's not so little any more. The boy is at least 6'5'' but still gangly like an adolescent puppy. I got him a job here when he came to Seattle for school and he even lived with James and I for a few months before he found roommates that didn't "have obnoxiously loud sex every night".

"Dad says you got a girlfriend," I narrow my eyes at him, forgoing a greeting. I know Charlie's told me the truth. Seth's been scarce lately. My grocery bill is much lower.

He grins sheepishly, "I don't know if I'd call her a girlfriend…"

"Seth if you're rolling around in bed with girls you won't even admit an attachment to I'm going to call Sue."

He chuckles and wraps me in a brotherly hug. He smells like dish soup and garbage but its okay. "Gez Sis, not all of us can meet are soul mates at 16, alright? The rest of us get to do the awkward dating thing."

Smartass. "I don't care. Bring…"

"Claire."

"Bring _Claire_ over for dinner sometime next week or I'm going to make random visits to your apartment while I'm near campus."

"Like I care," he snorts, still resting a heavy arm on my shoulder, "You make me one popular guy, Bells. My friends think you're totally hot."

I slap him away from me until he laughs and backs off. I'm not thrilled by the idea of his marijuana hazed little pals finding me attractive. They aren't good boys like my Seth.

"I'm going to tell James you're trying to pimp me out."

He shrugs, grinning, "Already told him. He said he always sends you to get the work done on your cars for the very same reason. Apparently the boys at the garage think looking at you is worth at least 20% off your oil changes."

I laugh without much humor. I've already caught onto James' game, "They gave me a whole _30%_ off my last lube job. Subliminal messaging?"

Seth looks a little horrified and he even pulls a page from my book and blushes lightly, still a baby, though it's not as noticeable on his dark skin. He's right off a near by Indian reservation had has a lovely tanned complexion that leaves my pale skin looking exceptionally pasty.

"Aye, before I forget, James called my cell phone earlier. I was in front of the boss so I couldn't pick up though…" he pulls out his expensive looking cell phone and flashes me a look at a call from my husband marked an hour old.

"He leave a message?" I ask carefully.

Seth shakes his head. Damn.

"It's cool. He's just trying to figure out where I am, I think. I'm off in two hours. I'll take care of it."

He lifts a brow and opens his mouth, probably to question why I'm practically grimacing at the mention of going home to my husband, but snaps it shut when a blur of strawberry blonde waitress goes streaking through the kitchen.

Both of us get the hell out of her way, no questions asked, because she's angrier than I've ever seen anyone look in my life. Her eyes find me and they're already glaring. Seth, my brave little guy, takes a shaky, protective step in front of me but it lacks much conviction. He's terrified of Tanya.

She pulls her order pad out of her apron pocket and actually throws it at me. It bounces off Seth's chest and flutters to the floor as we gape at her.

"Take your stupid fucking tables! Take all of them. I'm leaving," she shrills so loudly that I'm positive it's carried to the customers.

"But you aren't off until seven!" I yell after her as she turns on her heel, tearing off her smock and off stomping towards the backroom.

She just flips me the bird and keeps walking. Classy.

"What the hell was that?" Seth laughs.

I shake my head, even if I'm pretty sure I have a good idea of what just happened.

Before I seek her out, Rosalie shuffles in, eyes wide. She's a little ashen and not nearly as happily vengeful as I expect her to be after watching a gorgeous man refuse the woman that drives us all nuts on a daily basis. _What happened out there?_

Seth takes one look at her and decides he's had enough of the crazy because he kisses my forehead and scampers off to do his job. Boys. They'd rather wash dishes than hear gossip. Interesting, simple minded creatures.

"What happened? I got distracted," I question, leaning in so she can keep her voice low. We really should be doing our work, "Tanya just walked off the job." I have to admit that even though I've just been saddled with twice as many tables, it'll be a nice break to have her gone.

Rose shakes her head, clearing it. "It was kinda' brutal Bells…"

I push, "What happened?"

"So Tanya struts up to him. You know how she does it… Like she's working a runway in Milan?" Rose becomes more animated, "And she drops a menu on his table. That was her first mistake. He knew it wasn't you. Didn't even look up from his ipad."

I nod. I haven't bothered bring Edward a menu since his first explosive reaction.

She continues, "So he's still not even looking at her. He just asks for you instead. It was polite enough but his voice was just…" she struggles for words so I help her.

"Ice."

"Exactly! That guy is so fucking _cold_. Is he like that all the time?" I shake my head. After that first encounter Edward's been nothing but warm. Not friendly, not at all. But he's _careful_ with me.

"Anyway, Tanya lied to him. And I have no idea were she got the nerve to do it because that beautiful jackass scares the shit out of _me_. And that's saying a lot, right? She told him you called in sick today and you weren't here."

Rose shivered.

"Then he put his computer down, slow as hell, like an adult that had completely lost his patience with some snot nosed kid. You had to see him Bella. He looked at her like she was dirt on his shoe."

"Yeah I know what you mean," I mutter, thinking back to the way he first blazed at me when I made the mistake of telling him off.

"Tanya didn't notice at all. She was smiling and batting her lashes, and leaning forward a little so he could see her tits. Guy didn't even glance away from her face. He told her that he'd just parked next to your car and that dishonesty was a disgusting trait in a 'female'."

I gape at Rose. _He knows what car I drive? _I can't imagine him sparing me an errant thought outside of the diner. He must have seen me coming or going at some point.

"He told her that she was dressed like a street whore and the red highlights in her hair didn't hide that 'trailer trash blonde'!"

"Oh my god."

"I know! _I_ felt bad for her and I hate that cow. She just stood there, gaping at him like a dead fish until he told her to make herself useful and go get you before he went back to typing on his blackberry."

I preen a little. He's _such_ a bastard but he's nice to me and it's hard not to take a little bit of pride in that. It's like being able to ride a horse that bucks everyone else off… Or it's nothing like that. I don't know. But it feels good.

I bend down and pick up Tanya's discarded order pad with a involuntary smile.

"Well I better get to it."

I go to walk past her but Rose grabs my wrist, restraining me. She looks the epitome of uneasy.

"Bella, I have a really bad feeling about him…"

I shake my head to argue but she isn't having any of that. "_I know_ he hasn't said anything to you out right but it isn't because he's not interested," she whispers, "The fact that he's so intense about you but hasn't acted on it yet is more disconcerting than it would be if he came onto you every chance he got."

"Have you seen him, Rose? Don't be ridiculous…"

"Have you seen _yourself_, Bella? How about your husband? Don't pretend like he's too good for you because underestimating a threat isn't going to make it go away…"

I frown, incredulous. "Threat? Like you think Edward would hurt me… physically?"

Rose is clearly frustrated. Even she knows that's a ridiculous assumption to make about someone that hasn't shown even a hint of that type of aggression. I can admit that Edward seems ominous but I don't see any reason to fear or distrust him.

"I don't- No. That's not what I mean exactly," she says softly, like she's afraid he could hear her from across the crowded eatery. "He just gives me the creeps, okay?"

I try not to giggle as I give her a reassuring hand squeeze.

And she said _I_ was rodent jumpy. Pregnant Rose isn't quite as fearless normal Rose.

I stop to pour Edward a nice hot cup of coffee with a little swagger in my step. I can feel his eyes on me and when I glance up, he doesn't look away. They're so, so green as they study me and even though his face is as impassive as always, his expressive eyes radiate relief.

Maybe he didn't really know that Tanya was lying. He seems like kind of person that can bluff a killer poker player. That gives-nothing-away stare of his.

I'm about to walk over to him and suddenly my palms are clammy as fuck because he's going to talk to me today. I just _know_. He's still looking.

But the bell on the door chimes and I glance over because I need a distraction, a reason to look away before I can't anymore.

_Oh no. _

If I think Edward Cullen seems eased by my presence it's _nothing_ compared to the look on my husband's face as he takes me in, standing in the doorway of the diner. He's in torn jeans and a black leather jacket, he hasn't even bothered to pull back his hair. He looks awful and wild and so beautiful it takes my breath away.

I'm frozen in the middle of the restaurant as I watch his expression morph from paralyzing relief- to blistering, scathing rage.

_I'm in so much trouble. _

**Reviews are absolutely great. Looking forward to reading them if you guys can find the time to leave me some feed back! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Short chapter. Just wanted to get it out. Thanks for the reviews.**

**Once again, I'll probably warn you every time I post a new chapter. There is going to be a lot of romance in this story, frankly I wouldn't be interested in writing it if there wasn't, but it's marked Angst and Horror for a reason. Please don't read this if you are interested in fluff and happy endings. I can't promise you that. It will be interesting if you can hang in there with me but if this isn't your thing... don't read it. Don't do it to yourself. lol Or to me. Because I am putting so many warnings on this puppy, I'm going to be pissed if I get flames in the end about how I ruined the Twilight characters for you and that I'm a disgrace to fandom. lol**

James doesn't bother with pleasantries, or even show much concern for professionalism in my working environment. He's pissed. I can see it in the set of his jaw and the posture in his shoulders. Ridged. Tense. I'm not used to seeing his anger directed towards me and for a moment too long, all I can do is stare at him like a deer caught in rapidly approaching headlights.

He saunters forward and wraps his large hand around my wrist. He may have enough control to keep from yelling at me in front of a room full of nosey costumers and co-workers, but he sure as hell has no qualms about dragging my ass out the front door in the middle of my shift so he can scold me like a child with relative privacy.

I yelp out in pain. Not because his grip is too hard, James couldn't be rough with me if both of our lives depended on it, but because I'm not anticipating the jerk of his movements and steaming hot coffee from Edward's intended mug spills and drips a searing line down my arm.

It's a pathetic whimper that comes out of my mouth, like a kicked puppy. My sub-conscious defense mechanism. I've been burned before without much whining, I'm a big girl, but the worse my husband feels, the less of a lecture I'll get.

The anger drains instantly from his eyes as they widen in panic. _Bingo_. But before I receive the spoils of his guilty apology I'm blocked by a large wall of grey. A man.

I gape like an idiot as I watch Edward step between James and I. He shoves my husband back forcefully, away from me. James isn't expecting the intervention and stumbles back, just barely able to catch his footing to stop the fall. He's face is full of disbelief. He looks at the slightly taller man incredulously.

Edward's body language is very easy to read. _Come closer and I'll deck you._

Oh no.

"_Who the fuck are you?"_ They bark simultaneously. It might have been funny. But it's not. Not right now.

James is in very good shape, an avid gym rat who played football back in high school. He's even been in a few juvenile brawls… But Edward? Despite his subdued exterior there's something feral about him. I notice it every time he walks in the room and when ever his eyes meet mine. That sense of fear that tickles my spine.

I'm not sure I'd pin my worst enemy against him, much less the love of my life.

"I'm her husband, bro," James frowns. Unlike Edward, who's radiating heady waves of hostility, my husband isn't angry. Just confused. James hasn't had a hot head since his late teens.

Edward's whole spine tenses. I can see it clearly because I'm still behind his back, protected from the one person that would never hurt me. He rounds on me, green eyes stunned and his beautiful face no longer impassive. For just a moment he bares all. And he looks like he's being slowly burned.

"You don't wear a ring," he murmurs, low, so low I can hardly hear it. He drops his gaze to my diamondless finger as proof. I lay his coffee on an empty table and wring my hands nervously under his scrutiny.

"They don't let us wear jewelry," I whisper, my mouth suddenly bone dry. "Sanitary measures, and all…"

Christ. Why do I feel like I've just been caught cheating?… _On Edward._

I glance around because I can't bear looking into those pained eyes. They're doing something to me that shouldn't happen in front of the man I love.

I spy Rose and the other girls staring at the scene with unyielding intensity. This is the most exciting thing to happen around here since the industrial dishwasher flooded the kitchen. I'm pretty sure Rose is a little turned on. Her eyes are glazed over like she's enjoying a frequent fantasy that's finally come to fruition**.**

She was obviously wrong about Edward. Not only was he not interested in hurting me but he was trying to protect me from my own husband. I can see why he'd think James was an attacker. My boy with his black leather jacket and long blonde hair, his motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. He's a great looking guy but I'd probably lock my car doors if I saw him on a street corner. He's the reason I don't judge books by their covers. Jamie's a lamb in tough guy clothing.

When I look again Edward's mask is back on and honestly, I'm very much relieved.

I squirm in place. I can't even introduce them to defuse the situation. Edward's never actually offered his name. It was given to us by Tanya and confirmed by articles and Seattle newspaper pictures that feature the handsome district attorney. How embarrassing.

Edward saves me from my panic when he takes a chastised step away from me. He's suddenly straight and confident again, ever the professional.

"I apologize. I saw what I thought was a waitress being accosted and I reacted without thinking," he chuckles and though it's a lovely new sound, its stiff and fake.

I narrow my eyes at him but he's ignoring me entirely as he assesses the other man.

_Oh so we're pretending I'm just a waitress and not the _only_ waitress you'll see without throwing a mini tantrum? Dick. _

He's fuming mad. I don't need to know much about him to see that. I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin with anxiety. I never actually get to look at him this close up, tending to shy away when I wait on him. Again I'm struck by the painfully beautiful nature of his features. Though he's quite a bit older than I expect. Maybe in his late 30's. It makes sense actually. His judicial position isn't one that can be achieved without extensive experience and influence. Not something they give to a 20-something punk.

James is still a little confused but he grins, friendly enough. "Its cool, guy. I'm glad someone around here's looking out for my girl since she refuses to look out for herself." He shoots me a disapproving look. A crystal clear '_I'm still mad at you'_. He shifts the helmet under his arm to offer Edward his hand "I'm James."

If I hadn't been watching him so closely I wouldn't have seen Edward's reluctance to take accept the greeting. But it's there. The clenching of his fist before he lifts his palm.

"Edward Cullen," he replied curtly. "I'll leave you two to… talk."

He meets my eyes before he moves to walk away, imploring. It felt like he was asking my permission to leave so I gave him a tiny, flustered nod.

He still didn't trust James not to harm me.

"Fucking weird," James chuckles as we watch him glide back to his table.

I smack his chest with my non-burnt hand. "That's what happens when you stomp in here like a brute. People think your going to drag me out by my hair and beat me in the parking lot," I simper at him, pretending like Edward's reaction was rational.

"Don't tempt me," he glowers before nodding towards the front door, "We need to talk."

"I'm working."

I won't go outside where there aren't witnesses. You can't make me.

"You want to do this here?" He eyes me skeptically before making a show of glancing around the crowded room.

I glare and stomp out the door with a huff. _Bastard_.

It's fucking cold outside and the street is noisy as traffic zooms by. James sees me shiver and wrap my arms around my body to keep in my heat. He shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. I'm swimming in the huge thing and it's weight is heavy on my back but it still holds the warmth from his body and James' comforting scent.

"What the fucks wrong with you, Bella? You didn't call or text… nothing. And after the talk we had this morning? How could you do that to me. I was shitting bricks fucking worrying about you…"

Geeze. He wasn't going to hold back was he? "Baby, I'm so sorry. I know I promised but one of the girls called in. Her kid was sick. I couldn't tell her-"

He cuts me off, scoffing and annoyed, "You know I'm not mad because you stayed longer. I'm pissed because you didn't call. Its fucking selfish, Bel. Its _selfish_ that you won't take 2 minutes to give me piece of mind."

He voice is rising and I can see people watching the scene through the glass windows. They aren't as inconspicuous as they think they are. I should feel terrible because James looks like he's been through hell and back but I've been on my feet all day and I'm in a nasty mood.

"You could have called the diner. I've been here the whole time," I hiss back, standing to my full, unimpressive height.

"I _did_ call the diner. Like a dozen fucking times." Oh shit. That was Rose's responsibility and she was just a star when it came to efficiency today. "I called your cell phone, which is off by the way, even though you promised me you had it. I called Seth. I called Dad. Jesus Christ, Bella… I was about to call the fucking cops," he bellows.

"You called Charlie?" I whine, knowing when he says 'Dad' he's referring to my father, not his. "James you know how worried he gets. You're going to give him a heart attack."

He shakes his head in that_ 'don't try to make this about me' _way. "I was freaking out. I told you how worried I was about you leaving the house without me just this morning. I was positive you'd have the decency to call and check in if you had a legitimate reason to stay out…"

"I forgot," I whisper. My face distorts in a wince. '_I forgot' _sounds pathetically lame, even as it leaves my very own mouth.

"You _forgot," _he snaps disbelievingly. "People _forget_ to put gas in the car or to turn off the oven before they leave the house. No one fucking forgets to call their husband and tell them they're still alive and not bleeding in a ditch somewhere!"

Another '_I'm sorry_,' will be equally unhelpful and this time I'm able to hold it in. I don't really have an excuse so instead of saying anything I work on not crying. It's the worst feeling ever, the point in an argument where you realize something you didn't think was a big deal is, in fact, a really big deal.

I've always been stubborn when it comes to letting someone take care of me. I'm an adult and just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm dependent on the strength of a man. But James is right. This isn't about accepting help this is about allowing him to breath a little lighter when I'm not with him. It _was_ selfish to deny him that.

He sees my brown eyes start to well with tears, I can sense his reluctance as my vision blurs. He's warring between the impulse to drop it and the resentment that is urging him forward.

A few seconds later his love for me prevails and he sighs deeply as he wraps me in his warm arms.

"I love you too much to be sitting at home praying that you're safe. Please think of me half as much as I adore you, Bella," he implores against my hair. His voice is thick and I just then realize what I've put him through. If some one was out there shooting down blonde, blue eyed men I'd probably be a wreck too.

I whimper with guilt and choked back tears against his chest.

He pulls back and uses his thumb to wipe away the wetness from under my eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you," he whispers by way of apology, now that his frustration has cooled.

"Well you did," I sniffle honestly, "I feel like everyone is waiting for me to get picked off. I'm not used to checking in all the time and I'm not sure its far for you to expect me to be good at it right away…"

"I know that. And I know this isn't your fault. But they just found that girl's body _yesterday_. She had a boyfriend, waiting at home for her. Do you have any idea how it feels? To read his interview in the paper and know it could have been me?"

"I do. I'm sorry. I'm just tired, James. Please. Can we just talk about this when I get home later?"

He kisses my lips and nods his consent. "Yeah. We can do that. When are you off?"

"Hour and a half. You gonna stick around?" I really hope he isn't. I can feel Edward's eyes on us from inside the diner and I'm not sure James going back in there is a terribly good idea.

"Not if you're okay with me just waiting for you at home. I should really call Dad and tell him that you're no longer missing in action," he grins sheepishly.

I narrow my eyes on him but stay playful. Enough of the dramatics for one night. "Next time you think something's happened to me call the police first. They'll ask less questions then Charlie. He's going to give me grief for a month," I groan.

James smiles fondly at me but frowns a little as he looks over my shoulder. "Why does Rose always stare at me like that?"

I turn to find my perpetually horny friend gazing through the window at us with a goofy grin on her face. I remind myself once again to never leave her alone with my husband.

"Eh, I think she's giving me the signal to get back in there," I deflect with a blush and shoo Rose away with my hands. "We're a waitress down tonight."

"Jesus. She's _huge_…"

"You know if she can read lips you just sentenced yourself to death, right?"

"I'd like to see her try to catch me. _How is she still walking_?" he marveled.

"You're an ass. I got to get back."

"Alright," he agrees even though he seems unwilling to release me, "I'm expecting you home at 7:30, baby. Any later and you need to call."

"Please?"

"You need to call… _please_," he corrects in a overly polite whine. "Love you."

"More than I deserve."

When I walk back in Rose has already served my tables and is waiting for me behind the counter with squirming excitement. Its amazing how much the girl can get done when she's eager to free up my time for gossip.

"Holy shit, Bells. That was the hottest thing I've ever seen!" she whispers frantically in my ear, "Can I borrow them?"

I give her my best disapproving look, "My husband almost got his ass kicked, Rose. That should hardly be an erotic sight for you."

Its hard not to grin a little though. Having the two best looking men I know square off for me? Its very flattering.

Bet then I remember that Edward just thought his personal waitress was about to get attacked and that good feeling is gone. Most people would have stepped in. Even if they're colder than ice. He _is_ the highest branch on the bright side of Seattle law after all.

"You know how much I enjoy occasional violence," Rosalie shrugs. "What did Cullen say?"

"Just that he thought James was trying to hurt me."

"You know he's been watching you guys through the window right? Like, the whole time…"

I kind of figured as much. He didn't look like James' biggest fan and had seemed reluctant to leave me alone with him.

"He thinks I'm a battered women," I sigh.

Rose snorts, "James? Put his hands on you?"

"Yeah I know. Crazy. But he came barging in here like a man possessed so I don't much blame the assumption."

"Well… I took your orders out but you have to handle Cullen. I'm not getting anywhere near him after what he did to Tanya."

_Shit_.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: All Twilight characters and core personality traits are the property of SM. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Yeah. Long time no write. Sorry guys. Like I said, this is just a side project until TTB is done so I really only have been writing this when I'm totally writer's blocked. I will be updating this much more often though over the summer so expect regular updates for the next few months.**

**Thicker Than Blood update… next few days.**

**Here's a short chapter. Unbeta'ed so please please forgive my errors.**

I've tried, on several occasions, to pin point what exactly it is about Edward Cullen that makes the blood in my veins run cold while the rest of my body feels like its being licked by flames.

The wealth?

He certainly seeps _that_ out of his every pore. His every Armani suit wearing, Rolex flashing, ipad toting, Mercedes driving pore.

Money though, had never held much weight with me. Provided James and I had enough of it to sustain a comfortable existence, I couldn't imagine being any happier with extra material things than I am just loving and living modestly by his side. I feel like there has to be some point, where you're able to meet your needs and the want for anything past that becomes preoccupation with the unnecessary. Those people that work themselves to the point of dysfunction to obtain things they never allowed themselves the time to enjoy, or worse, those who are handed everything and never know to appreciate all they have…

_No_, the excessively prosperous were creatures I typically viewed with a small measure of distaste, if not pity— a far cry from the awed petrifaction that hit me when Cullen came near.

His looks?

That was undeniably— though as a married woman, _I would, _in fact_,_ outwardly deny it— the first thing I had ever noticed about the man. Hell, probably the second and third thing too. Everything about him was unconventionally, and devastatingly stunning. With zero exaggeration, I'd watched women stop in their tracks and blatantly stare at the poor guy before they managed to find themselves; and with the way he'd never so much as glance up from his paper, I could only imagine that it happened so often that he's grown used to it. While I found the opened-mouth-gape slightly pathetic, I understood their shock all too well. A human being that perfect wasn't supposed to exist in real life.

But even that wasn't something that usually impressed me. I certainly never strived for it myself. I liked to feel pretty every once in a while just as much the next girl but never put vanity high on my priority list. Most days, a little bit of mascara and some gloss would suffice. My husband is a gorgeous man but in all honesty that was just icing on the cake. Even those brilliant blue eyes and that perfect body wouldn't mean much if it wasn't backed by such an exquisite heart.

So I could, with clear conscience, rule out Edward's other-worldly beauty.

As I walk towards his booth, his new coffee quivering precariously in my less than steady hands, I realize that the feelings that grip me when I'm around the powerful male aren't something that can be rationalized.

The unsteady breathing, rapid pulse— the sweat in the center of my palms and the inability to find my voice around him… they're as innate as any instinct I've ever had.

As his piercing green eyes track my progress across the crowded eatery like I'm the only other soul in the entire room, my body is quite boisterously trying to tell me something.

I just wish I knew what the hell that something was.

His expression is his signature grade of impassive but I have the unshakable suspicion that he's displeased with me. By the time I'm standing in front of his table I'm a twitchy, sheepish mess.

I place his mug down in front of him, feeling for all the world like a guilty child that's just been caught in a lie. I know his eyes are on me but stubbornly refuse meet them as I play with the strings of my apron.

The air is so thick its hard to breath and while normally I can scarcely remember my own name in his presence, I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to speak before he gets the opportunity to start whatever it is I knew he's about to say.

If he talks to me, I'm seventy five percent sure I'll pass out. It's like having a conversation with someone that isn't supposed to know you exist.

"I'm very sorry you had to wait so long for your coffee. I assure you that was an isolated incident and I'll be covering your bill tonight…" I promise him in lieu of his lackluster service.

I'm not Rosalie, after all. I value my customers.

"And to think… I've been walking through life foolishly believing my time was worth more than a three dollar cup of coffee," I hear him mutter curtly. His tone is bone dry but _that_ _voice_…

I wonder if he'd mind terribly if I recorded it. I could use it to loll myself to sleep the way normal people use a CD of natural sounds like the ocean tide or chirping crickets.

_God that's creepy, Bella._

I feel my traitorous cheeks pool with embarrassment. Me comping his stupid cup of mediocre caffeine does sound ridiculous, seeing as he routinely leaves insane tips that far exceed the price of his order. Of course he'd be one to point that out.

I look up for the first time— ready to apologize— and gasp.

He's _smirking_ at me.

Its only the very corner of one side of his mouth, it could easily be written off a twitch, its that small. But those green eyes are slightly crinkled at the edges, with amusement— I'm positive.

_Edward Cullen is teasing me!_

I smile shyly at him. I can't help it. The stern jackass just made a joke and I feel like I should encourage the behavior. Positive reinforcement. Works well enough with Jamie.

_You put the toilet seat down without me having to remind you? Good job, baby! Have a cookie._

"Actually, its only a buck fifty but if you feel like going crazy tonight and ordering a piece of pie, I'll still cover you," I mutter, tentatively playing with him.

He raises one thick copper brow at me, surprised by my teasing. It's probably not something he gets a lot of, now that I think about it. His ghost smirk gets slightly more definition and for the first time in my life, I think I might swoon.

The oxygen deprivation makes me bold, "And, in my defense, I did send a waitress out to tend to you. She walked off the job five minutes later," I eye him skeptically, pulling out Tanya's abandoned order pad with a tired sigh. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"

It's apparently the wrong thing to say because his eyes darken and the amusement vanishes at mention of the bold strawberry blonde.

"A poor substitute, indeed," he says without a hint of apology, if anything, he turns it around and gives _me_ an accusatory glare, thick with discontent. "Offensively abrasive and if you insist on subjecting me to her, I will continue to let her know I feel that way."

I flush even further.

For reasons I cant really understand— and am not entirely comfortable with— I really don't like the idea of him thinking I willingly handed him over to Tanya, nor do I relish the feel of his disapproval. It twists my gut in the worst way, like the look in his eyes when James identified himself as my husband. I had probably mistaken the irritation I saw there for agony, but I didn't imagine the terrible ache it gave me.

"At least she's _nice_ to you," I tell him, though I really shouldn't, "She's meaner than a junk yard dog to us. Best to give her what she wants."

He very slowly cocks his head to one side, like a confused puppy… well, more of a wolf really; nothing soft or cuddly about the man with feral, sharp green eyes.

"She's cruel to you," he states, not asks.

His voice is suddenly so hard it frightens my heart into skipping a beat. Edward has shown his fiercely protective edge today and though, yes, Denali is cruel to me and several of the other girls, I really don't feel like landing her out of a job if someone as influential as Mr. Cullen were to complain on my account. I don't really know her circumstances, since she refuses to socialize with us, but she might really need the job and I'm not one to derail someone's life over a few drops of bad blood.

I wave my hand dismissively and backpedal, "Just a bit of a pain but there's one of those in every work place, isn't there?"

My laugh sounds just a little bit strangled, even to my own ears.

He studies me intently, eyes keen, and I feel like a moth pinned to a board; squirming but stuck firmly in place.

"Right," he murmurs in a tone that tells me, plain as day, that he doesn't believe me in the slightest. "Do you allow everyone in your life to push you around, Isabella?" Edward asks me levelly, "Excluding me of course," he adds with a wry grin.

I blink at him, taken aback and confused.

He glances pointedly towards the door, where the confrontation with James just went down. The beautiful man's irises nearly blaze black with malice and I find myself taking a tiny, but instinctive, step back.

_Shit_.

I _knew_ he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. Seattle's District Attorney thinks my husband's a wife beater. Jamie sure picked the wrong moment to fuck with me.

I shake my head so hard my pony tail flies around and whips my in the face.

"My husband doesn't _push me around_, Mr. Cullen. I was supposed to call him and I didn't. He was… worried," I try to explain— poorly.

"Worried that someone other than himself was causing you harm?" he challenges. There's genuine anger in the set of his jaw but his tone is shockingly bland for that harsh of an accusation. This man is constantly, eerily controlled, despite his words.

My mouth drops incredulously before I glance around to see if he was overheard. Rumors start quick here. Everyone's pretending not to watch us, like literally _everyone_; heads whip away when I turn towards them. Cullen's a bit of an enigma amongst the regulars and staff and I'm pretty sure none of them have seen him talk before.

Thankfully, there's not really anyone in hearing distance, though Rose looks like she's kicking herself for not bugging his table. He always sits in an oddly placed booth off to the side. Big surprise.

"James loves me and would never hurt me," I hiss at him quietly, turning my back to everyone else like I'm afraid that they can read lips.

Before I even notice he's moved, his large hand is wrapped gently around my wrist, just above the angry pink skin that is threatening to blister after it was scorched by the coffee James' had caused me to spill on myself. His touch is feather light, with absolutely no threat behind the invasion of personal space, but it still shocks me to my core.

His flawless skin and perfectly groomed finger nails look like they're glowing against the back drop of my own pasty flesh. A god touching a mere mortal. Edward's thumb brushes in small cycles along the underside of my palm as he holds it up slightly for both of our inspection. My skin buzzes like a live wire under the pads of his fingers, it's the most alarming sensation I've ever felt.

"What do you call this?" he asks, his brow raised in question by the time I look up at him vacantly.

Honestly, I'm so surprised by the electric pulse of his touch that, for a moment, I forget that there's a point to it.

He taps his index finger against the edge of the burn to pull me out of my daze. My cheeks flood with embarrassment.

"An accident," I huff, indignant, and pull my arm free. Its very nearly hurts to do so and I mentally chastise myself for being ridiculous.

"Do you have a lot of _accidents, _my dear?" He's goading me. I can tell. I don't feel like there's any ill intent behind it, he's just trying to fluster me into admitting something that simply isn't the case. An interrogation room tactic.

I want to ease his mind as much as I want to defend my husband so I look him straight in the eye in a move I truly wouldn't be capable of doing if I was going to lie to him. _God_, they're so painfully stunning. The exact color and luster of unflawed emeralds.

"My father's a cop, okay? I know how to take care of myself. If my husband even _thought_ about putting his hands on me I'd kill him and _then_ let my daddy arrest him."

Edward searches me closely before his mouth pulls back into that crooked smirk.

_Jesus, make him stop being that._

"Very well, Isabella. I apologize for laboring under a misapprehension. I'll trust your _killer's_ instincts to keep you safe," his smile turns positively wicked at the ribbing.

I mean to tell him that all is forgiven but get distracted. Since he's talking to me, there's one thing I've always kinda wanted to know.

"Why do you call me that?"

His brow knits lightly, "Call you what?"

"Isabella." It makes me nervous. I'm only used to hearing it if my parents are angry with me over something. Very Pavlov's dog.

"Because that's your name," he tells me slowly and looks to be enjoying himself.

I nod, though I'm not thrilled at his patronizing tone. "Well, yes. But I told you no one ever calls me that. I'm just… Bella."

I don't _really_ mind. But I'm curious as to why he continues with the formalities, if it's his way of distancing himself.

I definitely don't expect the distasteful expression that twists his lips. Edward Cullen frowns at me in clear disapproval. "_Bella_," he drawls beautifully, "is a suitable title for a call girl, or perhaps, a stripper. You were given a respectable name at birth, I'd prefer to use it."

He shrugs causally, a slight lift in the immaculately fitted shoulders of his pale gray suit, and drops his focus to the sleek blackberry on the table in front of him. The picture of a man that has no idea he's said anything offensive.

I gape.

_No way did he just- _But he _did_. The gorgeous bastard just told me my commonly used alias made me sound like a harlot. My entire face heats, completely red, I'm sure. I mean, for fuck sakes, it's not like they call me… Misty or Coco.

"The blonde breeder is attempting to catch your attention. I believe you may be needed else where," he adds without looking up.

Still slack-jawed, I turn and, unable to stop myself, giggle when I realize the 'breeder' he's referring to is the very pregnant Rosalie, trying to flag me down from behind the busy counter. I remember— because I'd obviously forgotten— that I'm at work and have other things to be doing besides endeavoring to unravel the puzzle that was this beautiful, clearly socially inept man.

"I- right. I should get back," I shuffle on my feet awkwardly. "Anything else I can do for you?"

The question is a habit and courtesy, I know he'll order nothing else. He seems to take offense to the food here. He's probably something weird, like a fucking vegan.

He glances my way one last time, his eyes sparkling at me. "A great many things, my dear. But nothing at the moment."

As I walk back to the kitchen, my mind races to make sense of anything that was just said. Its pretty incredible that, after months of verbal silence, I think Edward Cullen is more of a mystery to me now than ever before.

Rose looks about to burst in more ways than usual. "Holy shit! What was that about?" she squeal-whispers impressively.

I blink at her, lost. "I don't know yet…"

When I look back at the table, Edward's already gone and ten minutes later, when I go to collect the outrageous tip I should have remembered to tell him to stop leaving me, its not alone.

There's a shinny silver business card sitting on top of the formica, right next to his untouched cup of coffee.

I slip it into my pocket. Just in case.

**If anyone is interested in beta'ing this for me I would be super grateful. I plan on starting to update much more often from here on out so it would be nice to have someone to look over the chapters for me. PM me please. :)**

**Next chapter 1-2 weeks.**


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: All Twilight characters and core personality traits are the property of SM. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This during-hiatus chapter is brought to us by **KT8812**, who I like very much and was inclined to oblige when she asked for updates for this story. Lol If not for her, it would be sitting half done for God knows how long. Thank you, girl.

I have a stupid video presentation to do for class (because apparently my college Professor thinks she's teaching high school lol), so I wanted to get this to you before I spent the next few days busy with that.

Thanks for waiting all of you. My readers are too cool.

Sorry about the beta fail. I'll get it right next time but I apologize for any mistakes you have to muddle through!

oOo

I place my take-out order for two dinners long before the end of my shift. The guys in the kitchen drag their feet when it comes to food for their co-workers and I'm not sticking around half a second longer than is absolutely necessary. The day has been entirely too long, stressful and utterly perplexing. I'm not in the mood to make a meal of even the microwave variety and with a partner who is capable of burning a pot of water, _bless his heart_, tonight's dinner isn't going to be the homemade comfort food I had promised this morning.

I clock out and spot my two styrofoam containers waiting patiently for me in the pickup window. The night is definitely winding down but I still feel bad leaving Rose behind. The shift she's covering isn't over for another two hours.

I'd offered, again, to stay for her, but the stubborn thing swore up and down that she was okay. Even as exhausted and large as Rose is, it's hard to argue when you know that her 'I'm not tired at all', translates to, 'We desperately need the money".

I'm in such a rush that the day's number one concern doesn't even enter my mind until I've already slipped out quietly. Making the unfortunate mistake of standing still too long will always end in someone asking me to do something, off the clock or not.

Now though, I'm pretty sure I should have made a little more effort in letting them know that I was going to be leaving—by myself.

The parking lot looks… beyond ominous, as I peer around the brick exterior.

With Seattle's frigid weather and ever-present clouds, daylight fades fast and the little parking area behind the building is shrouded in darkness. My small car is sitting with the rest of the employee vehicles— on the very furthest side of the lot.

I glance around surreptitiously.

I'm not sure why I'm initially relieved to not see anyone else around. Any serial killer worth his weight is probably going to have some pretty serious ninja skills. Far more likely to be lying in the back seat of my car than standing conspicuously next to it.

_James and I have seen plenty of horror movies. I know how it goes… _

The hairs on the nape of my neck rise as I realize that no one around also means no one to witness anything unsavory happen to me.

I decide that the best way to handle this is to take it a run. Sprint as quickly as I can to the safety of my little Honda. My grip tightens around the to-go bag and the strap of my purse with determination.

I take three quickening strides before two powerful arms wrap around my waist and pull me back.

_Oh God, I'm going to die. _

I rear up for my best blood-curdling scream, I'm not going down without a fight, but my attacker is quicker to talk than I am.

"_Jesus_, where do you think your going, Speed Racer?"

I swear I wouldn't have hit a murder half as hard as I punch the owner of the familiar voice. The bastard had far less traumatic ways to get my attention than a bear hold from behind.

"Seth! You idiot. You scared me half to death," I glower at him, my entire body light with adrenaline. I miraculously hold onto my bag of food. Not even the fear of death can force me into wasting a meal when I'm this hungry.

The giant boy rubs the sting out of his chest where I nailed him. "_I_ scared _you_?" he barks out a laugh, "How do you think I felt when I realized you left without asking anyone to walk you to your car? You're not taking us both out, Bells. If I let some psycho swipe you on my watch, Jay would kill me."

I puff indignantly, "I'm perfectly capable-"

But he's already laughing over my defense, "Capable of running for your life? I just watched you, sis. You looked terrified."

I grumble but work up enough good grace to grin at him. Shoving the beg in his arms so he can carry the heavy load, I start the walk to my car with significantly more confidence.

"Where are your keys?" he asks catching up easily on much longer legs.

_At the bottom on my purse, hiding like always. _I open the large black bag and dig for them. "Eh… something around here," I mumbled distractedly while my eyes strain in the dark.

He grabs me seconds before I run into the back of someone's SUV.

"Bells," he sighs with exasperation that makes the happy-go-lucky kid sound a frighteningly lot like my father. "Any time you walk alone at night to your car or into your house you're supposed to have your keys out and ready so you can get in quickly."

I roll my eyes, "Who made you an expert?"

Seth grins sheepishly, "Leah made me go with her to the self-defense class dad signed her up for before she went away to college."

I can't imagine a bigger waste of time and energy. Leah Clearwater, his sister, is a hair's breadth away from a man, she's that big, with all the hostility her sweet brother lacks.

"Leah in a self-defense class?" I repeat skeptically, "Do you remember what she did to Sam's face after she caught him cheating with your cousin?"

He fights back a laugh, unwilling to let me deflect so easily, "No, really. The dude that taught it said that prevention and awareness are the first steps of defense. You park in well lit areas if your going to be walking to your car at night, always have your cell phone on your person instead of in your bed, shit like that…"

He opens the car door for me, the perfect gentleman, and kisses my cheek as he leans over my seat to put the food on the passenger side floor.

"I'll keep all that in mind," I promise.

oOo

"How long had you been sitting in that parking lot?" I wonder aloud and open wide to accommodate the fry my husband pops in my mouth.

It took me about a block and a half to notice the motorcycle trailing me home. It wasn't altogether surprising. Jamie's been over protective since when were teens.

We're having a cut-rate picnic on the living room floor, the throw blanket from the couch and fast-food containers; our romantic ambiance. Its not the most impressive set up but I'm curled up against him, almost at that 'full-enough-to-puke' stage and life is good.

He grins smugly and leans over to lick a drop of ranch dip he left on my lip, _so gross_, and gives my cheek a fast peck as his only apology for stalking around my work place. "Long enough to see Seth scare living daylights out of you," he snickers.

"You _would_ think that was funny," I'd like to punch his arm but I'm pretty sure I broke my fingers on Seth's chest earlier so he's given reprieve.

James shoots me a look, "Really babe, you need to be more aware of your surroundings. That kids bigger than anyone I know and you didn't even see him creep up on you. If I didn't recognize his lanky ass clear across the lot that shit would have given me a fucking heart attack."

I pull the half of my burger that I was too full to finish out of his hands as he goes to take a bite. He's not even hungry, I'm positive, he just can't _not_ eat it if sits in front of him for too long, "_That_ is going to give you a heart attack," I roll my eyes as he pouts at the stolen morsel, "I swear you're like a gold fish, James. I have to allot you a specific amount of food or you'll eat until your stomach explodes."

He looks disturbed, "Is that what happened to my little buddy? I though I was being generous with his flakes…"

The subject needs the be changed quickly. He moped around the house for days after that stupid dime-store fish died. It was one of those skinny feeder fish you win at the fair. The kind that live for two day if you're lucky.

"You're right though," I deflect as I gather all our trash and push it to one side to free up room on our blanket, "Seth was telling me all this stuff you're supposed to do to keep safe. Like, I guess you need to have your keys out so you don't have to dig for them…"

I know there was more but I've already forgotten. _Oops_.

My husband rubs the back of his neck uneasily and pulls me into his lap for a tight hug. I nearly have to remind him that putting direct pressure on my tummy so soon after eating may cause the reappearance of my meal.

"I don't like you going out at all right now. It makes me crazy, Bells. I wish you'd quit that fucking job."

My legs ache from being on them for so many hours, as if voicing their agreement, "After the day I just had it wouldn't take much convincing… Between the double shift and dealing with Tanya's temper tantru-"

A yelp escapes me as his grip on my waist tightens. His handsome face looks as angry as it did when he walked into the diner earlier and I struggle to remember what I had said to get such a reaction.

"That bitch is still picking on you?" he frowns, annoyed.

Oh…right, Tanya. I shrug, "Not any worse than normal. She got prissy because this customer she has a crush on turned her away. Threw her order pad at poor Seth and left me with all her tables in the middle of her shift," I complain… well, more like tattle. If you can depend on your other-half for coddling, who can you?

James shakes his head disbelievingly, "Does she think she's in fucking high school? You need to talk to a manager about her, kitten. If you don't, than I will… I'm sick of my wife coming home from work upset because she's terrorizing you."

I bury my face in his neck and groan. The last thing in the world I need is Jamie coming to work and talking to my boss like some concerned parent at a child-teacher conference. Not to mention that Marcus is scared to death of my bulky husband, probably worried that I'd rat him out for all his creepy staring.

"No, really. _Don't_," I tell him sternly, he looks pissed enough to do it. "I'll take care of it if it gets any worse but it hasn't been bad enough to be worth while," I reason.

A puff of his warm breath fans out across my forehead as he sighs, "You're too beautiful for your own good, Bella. We've had this problem since we were in school, other girls picking on you because they're jealous. _God_… What was that one girl's name? She was a beast."

My blush heats up my entire face and neck. Doesn't matter how often he complements me, I doubt I'll ever get used to it. "Lauren Mallory," I remember without need for clarification. She did every thing in her power to try to break us up senior year, "And they're just mean girls, James. Nothing more than that."

No need to tell him that _he's_ the reason I have a hard time with catty women, it'll only make him feel bad. My husband's a handsome man and something about seeing me by his side makes them nuts. They probably don't get it. I don't really understand it either most of the time.

Said beautiful specimen pulls a gentle groan from me when he ducks his head and leaves a string of tiny kisses along my throat, "We'll I'll always be around to protect you. From _mean girls_ or serial killers…"

I giggle at his teasing, eager for less depressing conversation. My heart starts to race as his fingers ghost along the front on my belly.

"I'm an excellent protector," he boasts proudly, pointedly, "Some would say I could easily protect more than just one tiny wife."

It's impossible to feel uncomfortable around this man I love so much and I feel suddenly silly for being afraid of this subject all day. I lace my fingers through his to distract them but he just presses both of our palms against the flat of my stomach. The gesture makes me head spin.

"I don't know," I pretend to muse, "I've been working with Rose all day today and that whole pregnancy thing looks like it really sucks…"

James gives me the sweetest, genuine smile, "That's because she's carrying Emmett's mutant spawn. I'd be perfectly happy with a normal, human sized baby." He uses our hands to rub my belly affectionately.

I feel warm all over but the fears still there. Its been a few years ago now that I promised myself I'd stop letting this charming boy talk me into things simply because I melt when he bats those pretty blue eyes at me.

"It's just… really sudden, sweetheart. Maybe if I knew what brought this on…" I bounce out of his lap so I can better situate myself for conversation, though I still sling my legs over his and practically purr when his strong fingers begin to knead at my calves.

It's a while before he says anything at all, "Your dad called a couple weeks ago. They picked up Irina again, for shoplifting or something," he's studying me closely.

Irina's a little piece of trash his half-brother hangs around with back in Forks. She's a terrible influence; from hard drugs to a variety of petty crimes, the stringy blonde has seen a lot of the inside of my father's squad car. Unfortunately she takes Laurent along for the ride more often than not.

I know it kills him to see his younger and only sibling wasting his life away. The two couldn't possibly be more different, starting with looks as Laurent's father was African American and James is as light in complexion as they come—sun kissed blonde, bright blue eyes—but they're still family.

He's never said it aloud, but I I've always gotten the sense that my husband thinks he would have turned out the same way if he hadn't found me and, by default, Charlie's steadying male influence, just in time to turn him around.

I reach forward and give his hand a little squeeze, "Laurent with her?"

His smile's humorless, "Not this time. But I guess she's pregnant. Dad wanted to give me a heads up."

My mouth pops open on its own accord, stunned. That's terrible news. "Is it your brother's?"

Lord knows the girl's not exactly the faithful sort.

"It took me two days to get a hold of him, you know how he is… But he said the kids his." James' body slumps back on the couch after a quick shrug. Its easy to tell that keeping this to himself has taken a toll on him.

"Why didn't you tell me," I frown, more worried than hurt.

He looks away, "Its just embarrassing, baby. It's always something new with him, just when I think he's fucked up as bad as he possibly can… I have to hear this shit from my father in law. I don't want you having to deal with this, Bella. I've worked really hard to make sure my family's madness doesn't affect your life, _our_ life."

"That's not fair," I admonish, tucking myself under his arm to show I'm not angry, "You're always here for me," memories of late nights crying over term papers with him by my side and bouquets of flowers after really bad weeks float through my head, "This is a two way street, Mister, whether you want me or not."

"I'll never not want you."

"Then you should let me help."

He rests his chin on the top of my head, I suspect its so I cant see his face, "It doesn't matter anyway. He said she's agreed to get an abortion."

"That's really sad," I comment. I'm not really passionate bout the whole abortion debate either direction but that would have been Jamie's niece or nephew.

He nods with forced impassiveness, "Probably for the best, really. She'd never be able to stay clear for her whole pregnancy and he's not in a position to provide for them. I can't even send him money to help out any more because I never know what he's going to spend it on."

I attempt to track the conversation back to my original question and end up more than a little confused, "So you want to have a baby because your brother's girlfriend's getting an abortion," I sum up lamely.

He actually smiles a little, gracing me with a weak chuckle, "No, of course not," he kisses the corner of my mouth until I grin too, "I just started thinking about their situation. If it had happened to us... Bella, even when we were sixteen, if we had slipped and you had even up pregnant, a child from you would have been a blessing to me-"

I want to beg the differ, unless James has recently changed his definition of 'blessing' to include a gun shot wound to the crotch from my father, but the sentiment is very sweet so I hold my cynical tongue.

"There hasn't been a single moment since the first time you let me inside of you that I wouldn't have loved any kid we could have made.

"The whole time my brother was talking about Irina being knocked up I just kept thinking… that this baby had been given to the wrong woman because you'd make the best fucking mom, B."

My whole face is red and my eyes might be a little wet but I press them into his shirt so he'll never know. Why I thought I'd possibly be able to deny him anything is a mystery to me. He makes something as terrifying as being someone's mother sound effortless as long as he's here to get me through it.

I'm in his lap again and my tongues in his mouth and I know I've surprised him a little because he chokes just a bit before he turns my passion around and gives it as good as he gets. I'm tiny in his arms, half his size, but his hold has never once made me feel insignificant. There aren't words to describe the way I feel when he's wrapped around me like this.

I need to breath, it's the only reason I could bring myself to pull apart from him at this moment but our smiles are huge and matching as we pant.

"Yes," I whisper hoarsely, my answer still too timid to voice at full volume, "I want to. We should."

James looks like he might keel over, pale from shock but beaming so perfectly he'd put any male model to shame. His eyes shine with excitement, "Now? We can start now?"

My laughter trills out of me, loud and a little rude but he knows not to take offense, "Birth control doesn't spontaneously stop working when a couple decides they want to make a baby. I'm not due for another shot till the end of the month so it'll have to wait till then at the very least."

He groans dejectedly and flexes his hips against my bottom to show me at least one _other_ part of his body that's sorely disappointed. As if it were possible to have missed the huge ridge of stiff flesh bellow me. "Eh," James shakes his head to pull some sense back into it, "That's okay. That's fine. Charlie said we'd be smart to wait until after you graduated away way. Apparently your mom had wicked morning sickness during early pregnancy."

If that isn't the sexually halting equivalent to having a bucket of ice water poured onto my head, I don't want to know what is. My nose wrinkles with disgust and humiliation as I reach out to yank on a long lock of James' hair.

"You told _Charlie_?" I shriek. His arms close around my middle to keep me from jumping off of him, his features only mildly apologetic, "You two gossip like old women. You know how weird it is that my husband talks about our sex life with my dad?"

James snorts, "We _don't_ talk about our sex life," he corrects petulantly, "I was just nervous about asking you… and about being a dad."

His face is so earnest that I spare him a lecture. His relationship with my father is very much a true father-son dynamic and I try not to begrudge him that just because Charlie was mine first. Hell, I talk to the man about half as often as James does.

"So, what did he say," I grumble, resigned but slightly curious.

"Honestly I think he was just happy we survived teen pregnancy," he snorts, probably remembering the early days when Charlie refused to leave us alone in the same room for longer than four minutes. "He said that we'd both know if the time was right and that he'd be happy with a grandchild whenever we got around to it."

His large frame is puffed with pride, like getting permission to impregnate me is his grandest accomplishment.

Without warning, I'm up in the air, cradled bridle style and leaving our picnic area whether I like it or not. It doesn't matter that I'm only a few feet off the ground or that my weight is nothing to the my huge boy, I still squeal and hold onto his neck like my life depends on it. Not a fan of being carried.

"Where are we going?" I demand, unintentionally cutting off his air way.

His answer is unnecessary since we've already made it across our little house and into our room, "Bed," he grins broadly as he lowers me down on our mattress like I'm made of glass, "My cock doesn't know he can't get you pregnant yet, baby. I won't tell him if you don't."

James drops down on top of me, giving just a small amount of his weight as he leans on the arms he's put on each side of me. Aforementioned confused cock is _right_ _there_ and even though I'm exhausted, my body reacts to him easily.

"Oh," I breath, overwhelmed by him.

My husband reaches between us and begins popping the line of buttons that go all the way down the front of my work dress, "I hate this uniform," he mutters, kissing the swell of my breasts as he exposes more and more of me, "But I fucking love taking it off of you…"

I moan softly, in a greedy mood and more than content to bask in his affections.

It feels like there are a million tiny buttons and neither one of us is feeling particularly patient. As soon as he's opened enough to make room, I help him slip my arms out of the sleeves and raise my hips to allow the complete removal of the garment.

Instead of immediately resuming his kisses he stands above me, staring. I feel unexplainably sheepish spread out before him in pathetically modest panties. But he tosses his head back and groans, as deeply and full of lust as he does when I touch him in the just the right spot or the moment he's entering me.

"I've done the most unseemly things with you, _to you_, my wife," he murmurs running his palm up the flat of my abdomen until its wedged between my breast, "I've fucked you every place I could get away with, and you're always eager, wet and ready for me. I've see you take me down your little throat until you gag around my cock… Have heard you beg me to pound you harder…faster."

My lip is lodged between my teeth as I peer up at him, warring between a bit of embarrassment and lust at his reminder of my more wanton displays.

He gorgeous blue stare burns a whole right through me, "But every fucking time I get you like this, laid out for me to take you, you still look like the meekest little virgin. Blushing at me with those huge doe eyes. I don't know how you do it. How you make me feel like in _need_ to worship you every time I take you to bed."

I sit up and pull my husband to me by the belt loops of his jeans. He gets like this sometimes; frighteningly reverent. Half of the pieces in his studio are paintings of me in various states of undress. All of its very abstract and while it used to mortify me to have a massive canvas of my body on a wall for all to see, I've come to find it quite liberating. I've spent hours upon hour of our relationship staying perfectly still as he sketched away.

Hoping to prove his blushing virgin comment utterly ridiculous I pull his manhood out of his fly. Its huge and jutting, angry at be rebuffed this morning and denied all day.

I'm about to take him in my mouth when I feel pressure on my shoulders, his hands gently pushing me into my back.

"Not tonight, baby," James tells my haughtily as he pulls off his pants and my underwear, clearly beyond foreplay. I cry out when he slips a finger inside me, "Those lips are sweet but I've been waiting for this pussy since my wife was _supposed_ to come home from work ages ago. I think you've denied me long enough, don't you, kitten?"

He must be sure of my agreement because half a second later he's inside me, stretching me around his hard flesh and pressing his strong body against mine in the best possible way.

My husband's movements are surprisingly tender considering his hurry to join us. "Fuck, I love you," he declares as his powerful hips flex carefully over me. "You have no idea."

"I have a pretty good idea," I croon breathlessly, tucking his pretty blonde hair back and out of his face, even the intensity of his perfect features leaves me feeling even less coherent, "When you're side of my like this, James, and you look at me like that… its impossible not to feel loved."

oOo

_I want to touch him. _

_More than anything. _

_More than I've ever wanted anyone before. _

_Its almost a compulsion. Like the impulse to take a large breath of air when your lungs are empty and burning. My whole body feels as though its empty and burning, this close to what I need but still stubbornly denying myself. Because, unlike breathing, this urge is wrong. It'll hurt me by hurting everyone I love. _

_I haven't even realized I'd started reaching out until James' face floats through my head, a painful and guilty reminder. I snap it back down to my side like I had caught the appendage betraying me. _

_He laughs. It's the richest, most lovely sound I've ever heard and even though I know he's laughing at my expense, I get a sick surge of pride from causing sparkle in those impossibly green eyes. _

_"Do you know the difference between the love of your life and a soul mate, Isabella?" he inquires, his voice as smooth and cold as always. _

_He raises his hand, twisting a piece of my hair around his finger and I sigh in relief because the retched, empty feeling is gone the moment he makes contact with me. _

_"He may have your heart… but your body? That needs me, my dear. In the end, no one turns their back on what they _need_ in order to hold onto what they want." _

_The strands of hair are released and the pain intensifies._

My eyes pop wide open but there's nothing to see in the darkness of our bedroom. I feel dreadful, shaken and… deeply unsatisfied. I know I've had a nightmare, but like they so often do, the details escape me the moment I wake.

I toss my arm sleepily across my husband's side of the bed, seeking comfort, and know a moment of fear when I met with nothing but empty space and cold sheets.

There's no light coming from the bathroom and his spot is completely void of his warmth, making it unlikely he's just made a quick run to the kitchen for a water bottle.

I'm about to get out from the cozy covers to go in search of him when I hear the distant slam of the front door and heavy foot steps as they make their way up the hall.

When James comes back into our room he fully dressed and trying to move stealthily, assuming me asleep. I sit up in bed and turn on a weak bedside lamp to make it easier for him as he begins to shed his clothes.

"Where'd you go?" I wonder, extra confused from being only half awake. "Had a nightmare," I add.

He freezes for a moment before walking over and bending at the waist to kiss me. Even after a night of love making his sculpted chest has me eyeing him appreciatively.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, kitten," he apologizes and goes back to pulling off his jeans. He looks exhausted, even in the poor like I'm able to tell by the hunch of his posture, and there is a very clear ring of annoyance in his voice, "The phone didn't wake you so I was going to try to let you sleep through this. The alarm company called to tell me that someone had tried to break into the studio. I had to go all the way down there in the middle of the night to let the cops in."

"Oh my God," I gasp, horrified. I can't think of a more nonsensical place to try to steal from. James knows every one of his pieces and frankly they mean more to him than they would to someone looking for a potential profit.

He waves me off before I can get too worked up, "They'd didn't get in. I don't even think they tried. Probably just some kids fucking around, trying to find a place to get high. Huge waste of time is all."

James turns off the light I had flipped on and crawls into bed on my side. I go to scoot but he's already pulled me into his arms and the warmth of him is enough to make the sleepiness I'd been battling return ten-fold.

He strokes my hair as I nod off and just before I fall back into unconsciousness, comments, "If I didn't know any better I'd think they were just trying to get me out of bed and away from my wife."

oOo

"Bella… Bella, baby. Wake up," James is trying to poke me awake in a move that is about to result in the loss of his finger.

It had to be late morning this time because the sun light is flowing in through our bedroom window in an entirely offensive manor. I attempt to bat him away without pulling my head out from under the pillow but my aim is off and I miss him altogether.

"Nice try," he teases, smacking my exposed bottom in retaliation, "Come on, babe. Rose is on the phone. She wants to talk to you."

I'm more than a little surprised at this. Rosalie and I used to talk outside of work frequently but less and less often now that she's been busy with the pregnancy and too tired to double date with James and Emmett.

I squint out from under the pillow, carefully searching for signs of deception. James gets lonely when I sleep in too late without him and he's resorted to more drastic measures than faking a phone call in the past.

He holds the cordless to my ear, proving himself an honest man, and doesn't let go until I take it from him. He gives me a wink and some privacy when he strides out of the room to leave me to my call.

"Rose?" I ask, my voice embarrassingly raspy.

"Oh God, Bella…" she sounds upset, possibly even choked up like she's been crying.

I sit up against the head board, instantly more alert. "Shit Rose, is everything okay? Is the baby coming early?"

"What? No… no. Put it on channel four," she instructs, though it seems she's too distracted to really pay attention to me.

My muddled mind struggles to understand her, "Four?"

"The TV, Bella. Turn it to channel four."

"Oh," I scramble for what feels like ages to find the remote, but luckily when I turn on the small flat screen we have in our room its already on the correct channel from the last time I watched the morning news.

For the longest time, I can't understand why Rose told me to turn it on. It hardly seems relevant to either of us.

The coverage is showing a police press conversance, or rather, the end of it, as the man on the screen is being yelled questions at from the small sea of reporters in front of him. He points to one and they all quiet to allow the lucky journalist to be heard.

"Detective Volturi, its clear this girl bares no resemblance to the pervious set of victims but many are concerned that The Bambi Killer has claimed another life… And further more, that he's become less selective with his victims. Is there any possibility, in your eyes, that this mornings discovery is his work?"

The crowd is eerily controlled and silent as they wait for the officer's response. The poor man looks as though he's a thousand years old and just as fragile, his dark black hair streaked with violent patches of gray. His voice still holds a pitch of deep authority.

"We are unable to say much more than I've already stated, as this is an on going investigation. But we do feel comfortable in speculating that this death is _not_ the work of Seattle's serial killer. Aside from the obvious differences in appearance, this victim was murdered in a far more… _aggressive_ way. In all of my years in law enforcement, I've never known a pattern killer to break form in both method of murder and selection of victim. We believe this to be a completely isolated attack."

The network must have gotten the information they were waiting on because they cut the feed of the conversance before any further questions are asked. It's then that I understand why Rose is hyperventilating on the other line.

Over the news feed scroll at the bottom of the screen that reports "_Local waitress/UW student found bludgeoned to death by elderly neighbor_," is a smiling—clearly taken from Facebook—picture of Tanya Denali.

oOo

AN; So do we believe James' reason for being out of bed at night? I like him. lol And since I'm writing this story… that's kind of a big deal. ;)

Love to hear from you, even if its to complain about lack of updates.

**Pamelawright** left a little message and managed to get me motivated to it does work sometimes. lol


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: All Twilight characters and core personality traits are the property of SM. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

****Sorry If this repost confuses anyone! The chapter wasn't showing up for some****

**KT8812 not only got me to update this story but also beta'ed it for us. She is so helpful and great. I cant thank her enough for her time and effort but it means so much! If you're a fan of this story, you owe her one. ;) She has her own stories too. Go check them out.**

_I added the last section after she beta'ed the chapter. All mistakes there are 100% mine!_

"God this is such bullshit," Rose growls in irritation as she shoves another few donated bills into the collection can meant for Tanya's family. "I mean, the girl's dead. There are plenty of living, breathing people that could use this cash _way_ more than she could. People like _me_," she points her thumb back at herself and smiles pleasantly, like she isn't saying the most insensitive shit imaginable.

The penny pincher that owns the diner, a corporate stiff who's probably stepped foot in the place a grand total of two times, wasn't willing to contribute anything to the services of his fallen employee but he was _kind enough_ to allow us to start up a small fund raiser for her.

I shoot my atrociously pregnant friend a lazy glare, "You're the one who called me first thing that morning, practically crying," I remind her, "Where did all the compassion go?"

She rubs her belly, "It's the hormones," she claims, "It took me a whole twenty minutes to remember that she was a total bit-"

"You're not supposed to talk ill of the dead!" I interrupt her with a squeal, "No one got picked on by Tanya worse than I did but she still didn't deserve die like that."

It feels so surreal, the concept that she simply…doesn't _exist_ anymore. I've never known anyone who's died before, aside from Grandma Swan, and that happened when I was too young to reflect on it properly. I'm surprisingly upset, even convinced Jamie that we should donate a few hundred dollars to the Denali family ourselves, though he seemed unenthusiastic about the cause.

I know that Rose doesn't truly mean to be so cold about the whole thing. The diner's had a bit more business over the last couple days. Nosey people who had seen the press about Tanya's death and drop by to snoop or see if the reporters are still casing the place. It took a while for the police to convince the media that the blonde's murder wasn't the work of the serial killer and up until the suspicion eased, they tried hounding everyone she'd ever met in her life. Rosalie's tired from the extra flow of customers and the bothersome task of playing nice for so long.

"I just don't get it," she exclaims and pretends to look like she's working by wiping down the counter I already cleaned, "I've had to listen to so many condolences from people that had never even laid eyes on the tramp, '_Such a beautiful girl. What a shame, what a waste_'," Rose quotes a common sentiment, "Would it have been less tragic if she was ugly? A big fat-fatty?"

I laugh at her point, rude but not entirely without merit, "You're evil."

My back is turned when I hear the bell on the front door and feel space around me compress as though someone were drawing the air out of it.

Rose has a clear view, though, and confirms what I already know, "Speak of evil and the devil shall appear," she whispers, poking my side.

"Don't call him that," I snap at her, more defensive than is justifiable. Her eyes widen before she bursts into peels of laughter. "Stop that. You're going to splatter that baby out on the floor," I grumble.

She shakes her head, "You're crushing on Cullen _bad_," she accuses tauntingly, pressing her hand dramatically to her chest in a display of faux sorrow, "Heart torn between the gorgeous, tortured artist and the white collar millionaire model. Some girls have it _so_ rough."

"I'm not torn between anyone!" I gasp, scandalized by the very suggestion. I like _looking_ at Edward Cullen, he intrigues and unsettles me. James is absolutely everything to me. No contest, "I'm married. The two don't even compare," my voice offers no room for argument.

Rose pretends to look offended, "Christ, Bella. I was just kidding. Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?" she wags her brows suggestively.

I open my mouth to debunk her jab but no believable sting of words come to mind. There's a completely involuntary longing I feel in response that man—that beautiful, strange human being who is not my husband—and it's been filling me with constant, ebbing waves of guilt. When you're with someone who treats you as well as James does, it feels like a betrayal to simply acknowledge the existence of another attractive male.

Thankfully, Rose doesn't dwell or call me out on my lack of a credible explanation.

"Wouldn't judge you either way, kid," her small shoulder raise in a shrug. She grabs a clean mug and shoves it in my hands, "Give the guy if cup of coffee before he burns the place down, please. I've got to pee and then I'll cover you for your break," she offers before shimmying with sudden urgency towards the bathrooms.

I stick my tongue out at her retreating back with no small lack of maturity but do as I was told and move to fill Edward's predictable order.

I'm half way to his booth when I suffer a mini panic attack and have to focus hard to keep myself from pausing stupidly in the middle of the restaurant. It's only been a few days since I'd seen him, but with Tanya's death as a distraction, I'd almost forgotten about our last unusual interaction.

Are we talking now or was that a one time thing? Should I greet him conversationally or are we be going back to our minimal communication policy?

Had I thought of such things before, I would have spent several minutes hyperventilating in the back; but soon I'm standing at the edge of his table, staring at the side of his perfectly sculpted face, with no opportunity to chicken out.

He doesn't look at me as I approach, doesn't track my progress across the room with these gem colored eyes as he had the last time we spoke. By the time I'm lowering the coffee down in front of him, I'm convinced the attention he had given me was a one shot deal. It impossible to tell if my predominant reaction to this is relief or disappointment and I don't care to examine the feelings any further.

I debate whether or not to leave the flyer regarding donations for Tanya with him. Their handful of interactions were less than friendly and he doesn't seem the sort to feel badly about such things just because she died soon after.

"Isabella," he murmurs, having leaned in while my focus was elsewhere. The sound nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

"Oh!" I yelp, embarrassed. "Hello…"_ Edward? Mr. Cullen? Sir?_ "You," I settle on dumbly.

If he thinks the greeting as odd as I do, he gives no sign of it, merely reaching to snatch the paper I hold indecisively in my hand. His every movement, every action, oozes entitlement—an individual without restraint or limit.

The strange man reads over the appeal for funds with a lifted brow and I squirm around in front of him as though I were asking for handouts myself. "That's- Its just for-"

"The dead waitress," he finishes, not exactly the way I had intended. He looks at me from over the top of the sheet, studying my face until in the tension forces my lip between my teeth. "Do you think she deserves my money, Isabella?"

It's like I'm sitting for an oral exam every time this guy addresses me, my mind desperate to come up with that one perfect response that will impress the professor. I stare down at my shabby but comfortable work shoes as I think.

"We gave a little," I tell him, meaning James and I but not wanting to clarify, "It not really for _her_, obviously. Its to help her family, so…" I peak up at him tentatively, "I suppose it's a good cause?"

He smiles at me, reserved but warm as anything I've ever seen from this man. It's indulgent, the way one might look at a silly but beloved child and it makes my pulse race.

"I think she was dealt exactly what she had coming her," he tells me, voice low and pleased, like he's letting me in on a happy little secret.

The words would have seemed unfathomably crass had I not heard them so similarly spoken by Rose and my husband. I still glance around, to make sure they were not overheard. Edward watches me fight back shock for a few moments before laughing out a smooth, rich chuckle.

He moves to pull a wallet out of his coat, "But how could I not support an effort you've deemed worthy?" he asks fondly as he drops money onto the flyer and slides it across the table towards me, "I'll leave it to the pure to choose my penance."

Edward Cullen is strange, I realize. Had he not the distraction of beauty and wealth, not to mention an intelligence I sense is far beyond my ability to calculate, he'd frighten and unnerve me just as much as much the occasional _not-quite-sane_ homeless men that wander in here; unpredictable and without concern for offending.

I wonder sadly if he finds confusing me amusing.

I go to pick up the donation and get the hell out of there when I realize I'm holding a stack of crisp hundred dollar bills. I gasp at the money before I can stop myself. "This is-," I try to cover my surprise, "Very generous, Sir."

"Edward," he corrects and I try not to preen visibly with pride.

I go to reciprocate by telling him he can call me 'Bella' before I remember his aversion to the name. Instead I try out the new privilege, "I'm going on my fifteen minute break, _Edward_," I think I do a reasonable job of keeping my smile in check, "If you need anything while I'm gone just flag down Rose, that's the waddling blonde, and she'll get you whatever you need."

I don't expect him to need anything. He only just sits there, reading his papers or clicking away on his Ipad, and rarely even drinks the cup of coffee he orders.

"I do want something," he informs before I turn to leave.

My interest spikes and I'm suddenly eager to get him anything, _something more_ than the diner brew. "Oh? Should I get you a menu?" I point to the stack of them across the room.

Edward looks bemused at the offer, "I don't eat this shit, Isabella. I want you to sit with me while you're on your break."

I stare at him, sure I've misheard.

He must realize he's not going to get anything intelligible out of me just yet because he goes on, "I'll order you anything you'd like if…" his eyes narrow at the chalk board that lists the day's specials, "The 'Mixed Meat Sandwich' is something you'd enjoy."

I blush deeply. My boysin the kitchen make a mean sloppy Joe and I _do_ like that sort of thing.

"I'm not hungry," I mumble, marveling at the way a single comment from him could make me reconsider my diet.

I want to accept so badly it's overwhelming and it's _that_ automatic urge to be near him that keeps me from doing so. I try to think of my husband, and how he'd feel about me getting to know Edward. He trusts me, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind, but if he knew the affect this man has on me…

"I- I was really hoping to have a cigarette… and I can't do that in here," I stutter the excuse, rubbing my damp palms down the fabric of my work smock. Not a lie, exactly. I can toil myself into a foul temper if I go too long without.

I wait for him to turn back to his reading, to easily lose interest; so I'm taken off guard when he gives me a quick, satisfied nod, "Perfect. I could use one myself," he begins to stack his belongings neatly.

Despite my good intentions, I grow excited, "You smoke, too? You're not going to give me a lecture about how it's going to kill me?" No one smokes anymore, they'd sooner glare at you the second you light up. I probably wouldn't either**,** had it not been the one bad trait of James' that rubbed off on me.

He smiles, a flash of straight, white teeth, that is almost unpleasant in its beauty, "There are too many other ways to die to worry about such little things, my dear."

Edward seems to find this humorous and I laugh along with him, as if I understand, "I'm just going to put this," I hold up the donated money, "In the manager's office, where it'll be safe and then I'll meet you in the back?"

It sounds so much like a meeting I would have orchestrated with James back in high school that it brings a feel of nostalgia. I scamper off towards the kitchen before I get his answer.

Rose jumps in front of me the moment I'm out of the sight of customers. She's much faster than she looks. "Did you run him off or something? He took of the second you walked over here."

I eye her with open accusation. "You're trying to say _I_ have a crush on Mr. Cullen? You seem pretty interested in his every move yourself, Hale."

She snorts, "No shit. I'm as big as a house, Bella. Let me live vicariously, will you? I too was beautiful once," she says wistfully.

Ridiculous woman. I push Edward's cash at her. "This is for Tanya's family. Will you ask Marcus to put it in the safe? It's too much to throw in the can with the rest."

Thoroughly distracted from her constant fixation on sex, the blonde practically drools as she counts out the bills. "You've got to be fucking joking…" she snaps, "This is _eleven hundred dollars_. Who the hell carries this much money around with them?"

I shrug. That man is the definition of ostentatious. I'm not surprised. "I'm going on break. See you in a few."

Rosalie, who would normally pick up on my attempt at sneakiness a mile away, is still staring at the money when I walk out and I think it would be safe to assume she is considering the risks of siphoning some of the Denali family's take. I don't particularly care either way, but she's a good girl, for the most part, and I know she'll do the right thing.

I stop at my locker to grab my cigarettes and lighter out of my purse before slipping out the back service entrance.

A small giggle bubbles out of me when I see him.

If the invitation to meet Edward behind the restaurant to smoke bore resemblance to meeting with Jamie behind the gym in high school, the similarities end there. I would find my handsome boyfriend leaning rebelliously against the moss-covered brick of the building, and smile on his face and not a care in the world.

Edward—though still impossibly attractive—is standing rigidly at the very edge of the lot; staring down the nearby dumpster with what looks like a mixture of disdainand concern that someone might jump out from behind it and rob him.

When he hears me, he tries his best to look less offended by the state of my favorite spot. I appreciate the effort.

"They should at least get you a bench to sit on while you're back here," he comments, unable to fully pretend he finds the conditions suitable. I try to picture the place he goes for a smoke break, probably some roof top oasis with a spectacular view.

I grin, "They used to have one right here, actually," I point to the now empty space under a narrow awning, "But the homeless kept bunker down there at night and they're surprisingly hard to get rid of."

"Like rats," he says wryly, from what I presume is pre-existing opinion.

Edward pulls a sleek, platinum case out of his breast pocket, and from that, plucks out an equally lovely cigarette. His brand, whatever they are, are long and entirely jet-black. If ever there were a cigarette that resembled the tenor of Cullen himself, he had surely found it.

I look down at my little box of cheep Marlboro Red 100's, the type James and I have always smoked because they were least likely to get bummed off us by our classmates. They're too harsh for the kids that don't really smoke regularly but liked looking cool at parties. My pack of plain white cigarettes, misshapen and semi-smashed from floating around in my purse. I wonder if these common little things represent me as accurately as Edward's do him.

As if he were able to sense my sudden discontent, he's very close now, and I'm so distracted by the size difference between us, how completely he dwarfs me in his shadow, that it takes me a moment to notice the pretty black cigarette he's offering me. "Want?"

I beam up at him and take it with all the smug eagerness of an adolescent who's been offered a sip of champagne instead of cider at a relative's wedding. He holds a flame to light me and cups it from the wind while I inhale. I'm immediately surprised by the slight tingling sensation I feel after the first long drag of richly favored smoke.

He's watching as I pull it from my mouth and curiously press the tips of my fingers to my lips. He chuckles at my confusion. "It's the oil in the cloves. They pop as they burn," he tells me before blowing two elegant curls of smoke out his nostrils. "I can bring you a box, if you'd like."

I _would_ like. They're delightful. But my unwillingness to take more from Edward than he's already given me isn't the only reason I turn down his offer.

"I'm actually going to quit soon," I tell him, very nearly a whine. I'm not looking forward to this particular change in my life.

"Oh?"

I know he'd like an explanation and I should have guessed as much when I opened my big mouth but for some reason, I don't feel comfortable telling him that James and I have set a date for us to quit together before we try to get pregnant.

"I'm switching things up," I confess my other plans instead, "I graduate at the end of the month. I'm going to be quitting here," I waves my hand at the grandeur that is the shabby little diner.

Edward's expression could almost be described as peaceful up until I say this and the darkening of his eyes is not something that could be mistaken for anything but anger. A lung full of smoke jams in my throat.

"You've found another job?" he questions with a calm that doesn't convince me.

"I'm taking some time off before I do that," I answer softly.

As I say this, I grasp for the first time that the end of my employment here also spells the end of my working relationship with Edward. It's possible, probably even, that I'll never see him again once free of this connection and the thought leaves me feeling _bereft_. Could that realization be the cause of his mood change as well?

I watch the smoke unfurl from the tip of the burning paper instead of focusing on the weighty silence or the quick awareness that a limit to my time with his mysterious, gorgeous man was more necessary than I'd like to admit.

"What is your degree in?" he demands, the purpose in his voice pulling my attention back to him with some alarm.

"Literature?" I supply, though it comes out as more of a question while I try to imagine why he'd want to know.

His auburn brows knit pale lines across his forehead. I don't think he approves. It's not the most _practical_ major but I have a passion for the field and James encouraged me to play my strength.

Edward shakes his head slightly from side to side, "That's fine. I can get you work in my department…"

I process what he means by this before laughing deeply. "Your worried about my career options?" I sputter between giggles, shocked but warmed by his concern, "That's very nice of you, Edward, but I'll be alright, I swear. I was going to take a year off because I haven't decided on grad school yet."

Part of me is kicking myself for hastily turning down a career opportunity from one of the city's most influential men, but I'd be bored to death in a plush office position, doing absolutely nothing that involves my actual area of interest and study—even if it comes with the security and benefits of a county job. Plus, if I really wanted something in law enforcement, I'd ask Charlie.

Cullen doesn't like to be turned down, which I had already suspected. His cigarette is burning wastefully at his side as he appears to size me up. The simple act of scaling the length of me with those eyes is enough to send a strong shiver up my spine and the embarrassing tremor must squeeze a bit of sympathy out of him. The set of his impossibly long frame softens when it had seconds ago assumed the stance of argument and irritation.

He does this often around me, checking emotions so quickly I question their ever having been there at all.

"Well," he starts smoothly, flicking ash onto the asphalt below us, "You have my card. If you need anything, you'll use it," his gaze pins me and narrows skeptically, "You did, take my card, did you not?"

I blush guiltily. I was sure that had been left for emergency situations, James beating me as, Edward seemed to suspect he did, for instance. Had he meant I use it to check in with a friendly 'hello'?

"I have it, yes," I don't know whether to go for sheepish or reassuring so I end up with an odd sounding hybrid of the two, "It's in my wallet."

We're standing very near to one another now, and I'm not at all sure if it was he or I that drifted closer. I stare at the tiny threads that make up the solid grey fabric of his tie, the point that my modest height allots me in comparison to his huge frame. He radiates a heat that pulls me in, warmth that pulls me in when contrasted with the biting cold of the city this time of year.

_Alright_, so it was probably _me_ that invaded his personal space.

I try to take a step back without seeming too obvious but he _must_ notice because he matches my move in tandem, his advance so smooth the space between us never increases.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. It's innocent enough, his shift of weight, but something automatic in my mind wonders if he'd _let_ me get away, if I were to make a more overt retreat.

Whether I acknowledge the innate fear as the insanity it is—_of cause_ he'd let me back away from him—or if I'm simply not brave enough to find out the answer, I make no attempt to escape.

I peer up at him curiously and find him watching me closely with a small, bemused smile. It widens when I tip my chin up in a stance I hope comes across as brave.

I inhale sharply, eyes wide, when he lifts one pale hand and strokes the back of his index finger down the length of my left check with all the gentleness one might use when petting a extremely small animal. It might as well be an open flame, with as hot as it feels to my flushed skin. I don't know how to react, not at all, so I find myself standing perfectly still.

I'm near enough to hear the low hum in that back of his throat. "That blush, Isabella," he sighs, and though he addresses me, the melancholy quality of his voice seems not meant for my ears. "There's nothing like it. I know. I've looked."

It isn't until that exact moment that I even contemplate Rosalie's suggestion that Cullen is interested me in anything past platonic. I should have. The signed were all there, if just slightly muddled by his odd mannerisms.

I'm ashamed to admit that I hadn't been willing to recognize that a man like him could be interested in a girl like me.

_Why_? Jamie loves me, I know this, have accepted this, and James isn't worth any less than the impressive Edward Cullen, even with all his money and political power. I feel shame for holding him to a higher standard than I do my husband, not to mention the self-deprecating factor of the whole thing.

I square my shoulders and meet that piercing green gaze, so close to my face I can make out flecks of bright gold near his narrowed pupils.

"I love my husband," is what comes out, true to my unpresumptuous nature and inability to flat out accuse him of coming on to me, even as his fingers boldly skim my throat.

He grins, and far from looking embarrassed, offended or even disappointed, the expression he wears is something I can only describe as pride.

"Of course you do, love," Edward croons. He taps the tip of my chin affectionately before withdrawing completely from my space, "You're a good girl. You're just with the wrong man."

I can think of absolutely nothing to say back, not even as he stomps the butt of his cigarette into the ground and walks to his car without another word of explanation or goodbye.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

I have already decided against telling James about my exchange with Edward by the time I hear his key turning in the front door of our home. I never keep _anything_ from him but my husband is so perceptive, no matter how nonchalant I try to keep my tone, he'll see more than I am comfortable sharing at the moment. That I can't honestly say I feel faultless is the worst part. Edward must have picked up on the strange attraction I feel towards him… of course he would think I was available, interested even.

_And the money_. I'd give back every one of his grossly generous tips if I could, but after all this time, I'd probably have to sell my car in order to do so.

I don't like feeling as though I'm in debt to a man I now know may want more that I can give him.

But for all my worry about James being able to see my dishonesty the moment he walks through the door, it's amazing how quickly it's all swept from my mind.

He stops just long enough to pull his jacket off and toss it on the back of the couch—where it doesn't belong, by the way—before rushing me like a brute and sweeping me off my feet. He's had no shortage of smiles since our talk a few nights ago but he seems particularly buoyant as he gives us both a quick spin in the middle of the living room.

"Good day?" I speculate, sighing peacefully into his chest. He's the right level of warmth and just the perfect combination of smells; oil paint and boy. It takes only his tight embrace to convince me that no one else could ever give me this; a simple but much needed contentment.

James kisses the top of my head, "The best, baby. I landed a huge client. Ten pieces in six months and they're paying me a fortune."

I peek up at him, confused. Commissioned paintings are his bread and butter at this point in his career but it's his gallery work that normally excites him to such an extent. He's happiest when he's following his own vision.

"Who's they?" I ask.

He pulls me into the kitchen where we can both sit down and talks while grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "You know those high-end condos that they've been putting in downtown?"

I take a second too long deciding whether I should lie to keep from dulling his big reveal and he laughs as he catches me.

He waves a hand, in a gesture that claims unimportance, "Neither did I until I toured them today. I worked everything out with the head designer and her team. They need art for the main spaces and the model units and she said she specifically wanted my work. She gave me a few color parameters I'll need to work with but aside from that, I get to do my own thing," he beams and kisses me again, like the thrill of his day can't be expressed without enthusiastic manifestations.

"That's amazing, sweetheart." I'm proud of him and know he's more than talented enough to warrant such an offer but a seed of suspicious lodges in my brain. "She just signed you today? Just like that?"

"Just like that," he confirms, sipping back his water, "This is big, baby. This will really get my name out. Just this job alone…it's more than enough to get our family started comfortably. They gave us half up front."

I can't _not_ smile and join in his happiness. I ignore the pang of apprehension that twists in my gut, the tiny whisper that indicates something out of sorts.

It just seems so… _sudden_.

He puffs as he passed me the back of a business card where the huge sum they've offered him for accepting the job is scribbled like something out of a movie. I can't imagine someone trying to coolly slide it across James' messy desk.

I flip it over briefly and read _Victoria Smith Interior Design_ in extravagant gold lettering.

**That's all till next time. Thanks so much for reading!**


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